Ghost Riders
by MaverickLover2
Summary: A poker game in Telluride affords Bart Maverick the opportunity to help his friend Jeb Coughlin with an 'unsolvable case.' Will it really be assistance he provides to the marshal, or something less helpful and more dangerous? And is there really any such thing as 'ghost riders'
1. Old Friends

Ghost Riders

Chapter 1 – Old Friends

"For Heaven's sake, Mrs. Blaylock, I thought you were gonna leave that room next door to me vacant for the time being." The marshal wasn't scolding the hotel proprietor as much as he was just stating a fact. He'd been renting room 216 for several weeks now and he thought he had an understanding with the woman – it would be better for all involved if there was no one living right next to him.

"Well, I was, marshal, but then this charming young man rode in this morning. Kind of reminds me of you. Left this note for you." Mrs. Blaylock pulled the hand-written note out of the cubby hole for room 216 and passed it over.

'_Que Pasa? Billy Manning.' _Jeb read the note and broke into a big grin. "Tell me what he looks like."

The Telluride Mountain Hotel manager breathed a sigh of relief. The Federal Marshal was a good-natured man, big, blond and handsome, and she'd much rather see him smile than look unhappy. His eyes sparkled when he was smiling, just like he was doing now. He hadn't looked pleased with much the last week or ten days, and he was a lot easier on the eyes and nerves when his mood was as good as it was at this exact moment.

"Tall, dark, clean-shaven, kinda on the thin side. Dressed real nice, too. Just as polite and sweet as he could be. Sounded southern – Texas, probably. Just a little twang. Rode in on a big buckskin."

"Room 214?" he asked, and Mrs. Blaylock nodded.

"Said to come right on up when you got in. Anything the two of you need?"

"No, ma'am. I imagine we'll be down to the dining room shortly. Any idea what they're servin' tonight?"

"Buffalo steak, I believe. Cook's special recipe. Everybody in town loves it."

The marshal grimaced. He'd had enough buffalo to last the rest of his life, but it was better than another can of beans. "Alright, Mrs. Blaylock. Thanks."

He took the steps upstairs two at a time and landed right outside room 214. He knocked but heard nothing inside until he banged on the door loudly and bellowed, "Manning! Open up, you're under arrest!"

The door flew open in a hurry and a familiar face greeted him. "You scoundrel. You can't arrest me, I ain't wanted by nobody for nothin'."

"Prove it," the marshal shot back, and the two men embraced, then stepped apart and looked at each other.

"Don't just stand out there in the hallway, like some ignorant John Law," was the laughing comment from inside.

"Get your butt out of the way and let me in," the marshal responded.

The man in the room stepped aside and held the door open. "Still keepin' long hours, I see."

"A lawman's work is never done. What are you doin' in Telluride?"

"I was in Grand Junction and got lost."

"An unlikely story," the marshal remarked as he entered the room, the door closing behind him. "Where's your brother?"

"Someplace a lot warmer right now, I expect. He had some business to take care of that I didn't want to get involved in, so he went south and I went west. We'll meet back up down the road a ways."

Jeb Coughlin laughed and took a seat. "I guess you two can function without bein' in the same room."

"Here, now," Bart Maverick responded, "there's no need to be insultin' me."

XXXXXXXX

"Say, Mrs. Blaylock was right. This buffalo's pretty good." It was almost an hour later and the two men were sitting in the dining room of the hotel just finishing their meal.

"I'm sick to death of buffalo," Jeb responded. "If you stay here longer than a few days you will be, too."

"Oh, I'll be here a while. There's a poker game startin' tomorrow that I came to play in."

"So seein' me wasn't the main attraction after all, was it?"

The dark-haired man laughed. "Well . . . "

"How are your brother and Malone doin'?" That was a convoluted relationship, and dated back to pre-Jeb Coughlin days.

"It's complicated," the gambler explained.

"It's always been complicated."

"Let's just say that they're together but apart at the moment." That was about the best way Maverick could explain it. Bart and his older brother Bret, both professional poker players, had helped Ginny Malone, Pinkerton agent, on several cases. The biggest one was in St. Louis and had them playing husband and wife while all three, and Marshal Jeb Coughlin, worked on the problem. During the lengthy investigation Bret and Ginny had fallen in love and discussed a more permanent relationship between them, but it seemed that neither was ready to settle down just yet. They'd parted company for the time being, with an unspoken understanding that somewhere down the road . . .

Malone's next case had been in Laramie, Wyoming, where she and the Federal Marshal again crossed paths, while the Maverick brothers were off on another sojourn to only the poker gods knew where. Almost a year had passed since then, and it seemed that nothing much had changed in the interim. When Jeb expressed that sentiment, Bart corrected him. "That's what you think." There was no explanation following the remark, and Coughlin knew the gambler well enough to know Bart would clarify when he felt like it.

"You think they'll ever settle down and get married?"

"Shhh, not so loud. If either one of 'em hears you they'll run like scared rabbits."

"And what about you? Nothin' exciting in your life?"

There was a twinkle in Bart's eye that hadn't been there before. "Didn't say that. For the moment poker's my lady. How about you? What are you wrapped up in here?"

"Ah, got another mess on my hands, and I'm gettin' nowhere. But you didn't come here to listen to my troubles. Besides, you ain't workin' Pinkerton right now, are ya?"

The gambler shook his head. "Nope. Not doin' anything more excitin' than playin' poker. Unless you could use some help."

Hmmm. There was an idea that held some appeal. Jeb had seen what Maverick was able to accomplish first-hand, and he was certainly making no progress on his own. If Bart would allow himself to be deputized . . .

"How serious are you?"

"What?" Maverick laid down his fork and looked the marshal square in the eye. "Serious enough. You probably saved my life in St. Louis. If you need help now . . . "

"I just might, at that. Let me explain . . . "


	2. Big Ed's

Chapter 2 – Big Ed's

They were still sitting at the same table almost an hour later. "That's quite a story, marshal. Sure you didn't leave somethin' out?"

Jeb shook his head. "Nope, that's where I am with the whole mess. See what I mean?"

"That I do. Where do I fit in?"

"Anywhere you want to."

The gambler nodded. "Let me give it some thought. I got a couple ideas, but I'd like to ruminate on 'em for a while. To do that, I need a poker table. You got any recommendations?"

"Take your pick. Fannie's, The Gaslight, Telluride Saloon, Big Ed's, or Mama Malone's, any one of 'em works."

"Any one I should avoid?"

A shake of the head from the lawman. "Nope. One's just as good as another. I'm goin' to get some sleep. Let me know if you come up with somethin', would ya? I'll be at the marshal's office in the morning."

"You got it, Jeb. Wish me luck." Maverick stood and left money on the table. He tipped his hat and was gone, out the front door before Coughlin could say anything. He didn't know if Bart would come up with a plan or not, but just seeing a face that had helped him in the past made him feel better.

The gambler made his way through the saloons until he found one that he felt comfortable in – Big Ed's. That turned out to be a misnomer; Big Ed was on the small side in both stature and girth. What he lacked in size he made up for in personality and seemed to be everybody's favorite saloon owner. The surroundings were friendly and calm, and Bart spent the better part of the night playing poker and studying the situation his friend was involved with.

There was a major horse theft cabal operating somewhere around Telluride, and they were responsible for the deaths of several local law enforcement officials in Durango, Alamosa, Caňon City and Montrose. Just three weeks ago they'd added a U.S. Deputy Marshal to the list when he got too close to them in Pueblo. Jeb Coughlin was already investigating another case in the vicinity of the San Juan Mountains and was ordered to take over with the death of the deputy. So far he'd drawn a blank.

The talk at the table was mostly poker and local gossip until around two o'clock in the morning. Bart was playing against four other men – two that owned ranches, Jesse Mack and Red Sewell, Jesse's foreman Dave Jespers, and the local barber, Fred Wasson. Jesse Mack was a big man, tall and heavy-set, and seemed a bit on the grumpy side. The gambler was about to find out why.

"Hey, Maverick, you ride in or take the stage?" Mack asked out of nowhere.

"Rode in, Jesse. Why?"

"You got a place to keep your horse?"

Bart raised an eyebrow and wondered what prompted the inquiry. "Just down at the livery. Somethin' I should know about?"

Dave Jespers asked the next question. "You keep him in a stall or have him turned out?" Dave seemed to be a much more jovial man than his boss. He was probably twenty years younger and a good deal smaller and more wiry than Jesse.

"In a stall," Bart replied. "He'd take the hide off anybody that looked at him the wrong way. Is that a problem?"

Red Sewell laughed. "You're probably fortunate that he's cantankerous. Jesse just had twenty of his best horses rustled last week. I gotta pay somebody to watch my herd at night so's nobody runs off with 'em."

"Thieving a little out of hand?" Bart had already heard the story from Jeb.

"Not just in town," the barber replied. "Seems like the whole territory. Every ranch has been hit at least once, and I'm surprised the livery's taking horses at all."

"They even hit the livery?"

"Twice," Jesse offered. "Been all over the mountains. Nobody's immune; they've gone after the little ranches as much as the big spreads."

"It's way past serious, too," Dave added. "We need horses for round-up, and everybody's afraid to beef up their herd."

"What's John Law doin' about it?" the gambler asked.

"Ain't got that many John Law's left," Sewell responded. "They lost a sheriff over in Caňon City, two deputies in Durango and a U.S. Deputy Marshal in Pueblo. We're still lookin' for a sheriff here in Telluride. Right now we got a Federal Marshal here, name of Coughlin, and he's just outnumbered. He keeps askin' for help and ain't nobody sent any so far."

Jeb's explanation hadn't been quite so dramatic, but he was looking at it from a different perspective than the men who were losing horses. Whoever the rustlers were, they were doing a good job of raiding livestock in the valley.

"How long's this been goin' on?"

That was one matter that Jeb hadn't addressed. Jesse, Red, and Dave put their heads together and discussed the question, with Red finally providing the answer. "About three months, near as we can figure."

"With no leads at all?" Bart was hoping that the three men might have some information that hadn't yet been passed along to the marshal, but he was out of luck.

"Nothin' so far. I don't know about Red, but I'm about at the end of my rope." Jesse Mack's grumpiness now made perfect sense.

"There's been talk of the ranches offerin' a reward. Maybe that'd shake somethin' loose." Fred had heard the suggestion from several of the small ranchers that used his services, but so far none the size of the J Bar M or the Sewell Ranch. From the look on Red's face, the idea seemed to have some merit.

"I'd be willin' to put some up. What about you, Jesse?"

Jesse Mack looked at Dave, who nodded his head in agreement. "Yeah, maybe that would work. What do you think, Maverick?"

Bart's face held a sly grin. "Money never hurts anything, gentlemen. And on that note, I'll raise fifty."


	3. Ghost Riders

Chapter 3 – Ghost Riders

Normally at this time of day he was still asleep after playing poker far into the night, but this morning was an exception. After all the talk he'd listened to about horse rustling, his mind was preoccupied with a certain headstrong buckskin and he needed to be sure his mount was well protected. He got up in a hurry and got dressed, not even stopping for coffee on his way to the livery.

Billy Joe Jackson was the man he'd met at the livery yesterday, and Billy Joe was again in the back of the barn mucking out a stall. Bart breathed a sigh of relief once he'd caught sight of his big gelding, peacefully munching on a pile of hay and acting as if he hadn't a care in the world. The horse's demeanor was quite a testament to Billy Joe, since Noble was not known for his placid temperament and calm disposition. That was one of the reasons Bart paid extra to have him kept in a stall rather than turned out into the open corral with the other animals; he and the horse had formed an almost unbreakable bond a long time ago, and seemed to have an instinct for taking care of each other. He'd had Noble for quite a while and would be lost without the horse listening to him when he needed an unbiased ear to talk to.

"Good morning, Mr. Maverick," Billy Joe smiled when he caught sight of the gambler. "You need him this early?"

Bart shook his head. "Nope, Billy Joe. Just wanted to see how he was this morning. Heard all the horse thievery tales last night at poker."

"Let me guess. You playin' with Jesse Mack?"

"Yeah, how'd you know?"

Billy Joe stopped what he was doing and leaned on his pitchfork. "Jesse's got one of the biggest spreads around here, and he's probably been hit the hardest. He used to ride a big bay roan, and that stallion was among the first to disappear. Jesse ain't been happy since, and he don't hesitate to let everybody know about it."

"With good reason, it sounds like."

"Oh, yes sir, Jesse's got good reason, that's for certain. But he ain't the only one in the valley got reason to complain. Arthur Dash, Red Sewell, Buck Wilson, even Miss Wiley, they've all lost plenty of horseflesh. Me and Everett here at the livery been raided more than once. We don't leave no horses turned out in the corral at night no more."

Bart's face held a grim look. "You didn't tell me any of this yesterday when I got in."

"No, sir, and I would have if you hadn't put that big boy in a stall. But you did, and he seemed pretty happy about it, so I never said anything. Me and Everett keep the barn locked at night and one of us sleeps in the loft, so we feel pretty good about things. Ain't lost a single animal since we took up residence here."

Noble looked up and snorted, agreeing with the stable man. "He's awful calm for you bein' here and so close to him."

"Well, see, Mr. Maverick, me and him got an understanding. I keep him fed and clean and happy, and he don't take a chunk outta my hide. And he likes that little filly in the stall next to him."

The gambler looked at the horse Billy Joe was talking about. She was a little blue roan and looked eerily like his stablemate back in Texas. Bart smiled and understood. Noble might be a gelding, but he seemed to be a romantic at heart – especially when it came to blue roan fillies.

Having accomplished what he'd set out to do first thing this morning, Bart felt better about having some breakfast of his own. "Alright, Billy Joe, I'll be back for him later. And thanks for the information." He turned on his heel and headed for the door, comforted by the fact that at least for the moment, Noble was safe and secure. He'd passed a café on his way to the livery and that was where he headed now. Cindy's was the name of the place, and even though it was early, the café was full. He was about to turn around and head back to the hotel when he saw a familiar face and headed for Red Sewell's table.

"Hey, Maverick, come sit down and join me. Lou can get our orders at the same time."

"Thanks, Red. After last night, I'll even buy breakfast." Bart smiled and pulled up a chair, remembering the size of the last hand they'd played and his winning the pot.

"There now. Ya can't beat a man that takes all your money but still buys you breakfast." They shook hands and Bart took a good look at the man he'd just joined. Built tall and on the husky side, Red was older than Bart but younger than Jesse Mack. Red-headed and freckle-faced, his grip was strong and his eyes welcoming. "Up awful early for a gambler, ain't ya?"

The younger man nodded. "After all the horse theft talk last night, I wanted to check on Noble. He's perfectly fine this mornin'."

"Didn't mean to put the fear of the Lord into ya, just wanted you to know what's been goin' on around here."

"No, I appreciate it. I can't believe it's been happening for three months and nobody's got a clue."

Red cocked his head. "Now, we didn't exactly say that."

"You mean somebody does have a clue?"

"Well, sort of."

Maverick looked at the rancher skeptically. "What does that mean, sort of?"

The gambler had to wait for his answer as Lou approached the table to refill their coffee cups and take their order. Once she was gone Red let loose with a sheepish grin and the answer to Bart's question. "Folks speculatin' it's the ghost riders."

"Ghost riders?"

"Years ago we had cattle rustlers in the mountains. They didn't leave no tracks to be followed, and nobody could catch 'em. Then one day they just up and disappeared, and we ain't had no rustlers since. Old-timers in the valley say it's the ghost riders come back to rustle the horses."

Bart sat there for two or three minutes, just watching Red. He would have laughed, but the man in front of him was deadly serious. His mind drifted back and he remembered a place he'd called Lakota Mountain, and the stories and visions that surrounded the spot. The legends were so outrageous that he couldn't believe any of the things people claimed to have seen or heard – until he saw and heard them all for himself. It was caused by a lethal plant that grew on the mountain and emitted poisonous fumes when burned. There was always a reasonable explanation, even when no one knew what it was.

"There's no such thing as ghost riders, Red."

"I know that, and you know that. And I'm sure the old-timers know that. But that don't mean that stories and superstitions ain't gonna be remembered, and repeated. Even when they ain't real."

Breakfast came and was quickly eaten. Talk turned to other topics, including the upcoming poker game. "So that's what I came in for," Maverick explained.

"Well, you're in luck. Game should be good, and maybe it'll keep folks minds off the horse thieves. I still ain't decided if I'm playin' or not, but after seein' you last night I'd probably be better off keepin' my money and stayin' home. Maybe I could catch the ghost riders – I'm sorry, I mean the rustlers."

Both men laughed; Bart paid for breakfast, and they left the café together. The rancher mounted his horse and headed for home . . . the gambler headed for the marshal's office. Time to give Jeb a good chuckle.


	4. A Wiley Woman

Chapter 4 – A Wiley Woman

"Didn't you play poker last night?" Those were the first words out of Jeb Coughlin's mouth when the gambler walked in the front door of the jail.

"I did. And I'll have you know I already had a conversation with Billy Joe Jackson and breakfast with Red Sewell."

"My, my, you've been a busy man this morning. What interesting bits of gossip did Mr. Sewell have for you today?"

Bart sat down in the chair next to the desk Jeb was currently occupying. "Just some local lore. You ever heard of the ghost riders?"

Jeb chuckled at the look on Bart's face. "The phantom cattle rustlers? I thought that story came from the old-timers, not the ranchers."

"I heard it at breakfast this morning from Red."

"You play poker with him last night?"

"Yes, sir. Him and Jesse Mack, and Jesse's foreman Dave. Oh, and Fred, the barber."

Jeb got up and crossed the room to the coffee pot. "You ready for a cup?"

"No, thanks. So you've heard the tale before, eh?" Bart wasn't surprised.

"From multiple sources. Anything else exciting?"

The gambler nodded. "They were talkin' about puttin' together a reward of some sort."

"Oh? Did Jesse agree to it?" Jeb was curious; the rancher had never supported a reward before.

"As a matter of fact, he did. Is that somethin' new?"

It was the marshal's turn to nod. "Yeah, from Jesse it is. He must be gettin' tired of losin' horses."

"They all sounded pretty tired of it, Jeb. You really don't have any clues as to who's behind it?" Bart found it hard to believe that Jeb had no leads at all.

"One or two little peculiarities, but nothin' of any consequence. I was gonna ride up into the mountains today and see if I could find anything new. How about goin' with me? I could use fresh eyes."

It seemed a good idea to Bart, and he told Jeb so. "Sounds good. I'd like to get a better idea of the countryside around here, and some of the area ranches. Any particular time in mind?"

"Yeah, in about an hour. I've got somethin' to do first, then I'll swing by the hotel and pick you up. It'll be a long day, so be prepared."

"Understood. See you later." Bart rose from his chair and headed for the door. As he was leaving a man of about forty entered the office, and he could hear the beginnings of a conversation between him and the marshal. _'I wonder who that was,' _crossed his mind as he headed back down the street towards the livery.

XXXXXXXX

Some time later they were in the San Juan Mountains, looking down on the box canyon that the town of Telluride resided in. They'd done a good deal of climbing and stopped to rest under some Chokecherry trees to give the horses a breather.

Bart pulled out a cigar and offered one to Jeb, who accepted and struck a match. They smoked in silence for a few minutes, listening to the wind blow in the trees, before Bart spoke. "Get your business taken care of?"

A nod and a smile. "Yep, that was it walkin' in the door as you left. Buck Wilson, another one of the ranch owners. Jesse and Red must've talked to him about offerin' a reward, because he's on board with it, too. I guess they're all tired of losin' horses – can't say as I blame 'em."

"So you mentioned one or two 'peculiarities' that you'd found lookin' for clues. What were they?"

Jeb blew out smoke before he answered. "Odd things that don't make no sense. When I can find tracks, it looks like the horses are unshod."

"You mean the rustler's horses?"

"Exactly. Just like Indian ponies. And then there's this." Jeb reached into his pocket and pulled out something small and silver. It looked like a hoop earring, and once the marshal handed it to Bart he could see that it was just that. It was a tiny thing, almost sized for a child, and the gambler studied it closely. "What do you make of that?"

"Almost too small for a woman," was the response he got from Bart.

"That was my first thought," Jeb replied. "But what in the world is a kid doing rustling horses – and a girl child at that?"

"Doesn't have to be a girl," Bart paused while continuing to inspect the object. "Might be an Indian."

"Could be. Or it might mean somethin' else entirely."

"Such as?"

Jeb looked up sharply at the sound of a horse and rider approaching. He quickly tucked the lone earring back in his pocket and glanced quietly at the man sitting next to him. "Just between you and me, amigo."

Bart nodded and stood up. It took a minute to realize that the rider was a woman, the first woman he'd seen outside of town. She was young and pretty, with chestnut hair blowing in the wind under a gray hat and riding a bay mare. She wore pants rather than a dress and reminded him of Ginny Malone, though they looked nothing alike. Jeb rose from the ground and leaned over to the gambler. "Jeanne Wiley," he murmured, and got a brief nod in return. He'd already heard the name Wiley.

The marshal stepped forward slowly and placed his hand on the mare's reins. "Miss Wiley, you seem to be in an awful hurry. Somethin' I can do for you?"

"Come back to the ranch with me, marshal. My foreman's been shot and half of my herd is gone."


	5. Part-Time Lawman

Chapter 5 – Part-Time Lawman

Jeanne Wiley owned one of the larger small ranches in the area. She raised both cattle and horses and on numerous occasions had sold livestock to the other owners in the valley. She'd had ten horses stolen when the rustling first began, but this time the thievery was considerably greater. If it was half the herd that disappeared, she'd lost close to two hundred mounts, and the theft would dramatically impact almost every ranch in the valley.

Jeb and Bart followed Jeanne back to her spread, Wiley Ranch. She'd inherited the place from her father when he was killed in an avalanche three winters ago. Young and pretty though she was, she'd learned well from Ed Wiley and had managed to make the ranch even more profitable since his death. The loss of half of her stock would come close to crippling the place.

She swung her bay mare into the corral and the men followed suit. She ran past the doctor's buggy and up the steps into the house with Jeb on her heels. Bart was a bit slower, wanting to get a good look at the house and the surrounding property. By the time he reached the top step he'd come to a conclusion. Jeanne Wiley had done well for herself.

The house was comfortable, with a fireplace that dominated the main room. The house reminded him of someplace he'd been before, but he couldn't put his finger on exactly where. By the time he reached the doorway to the nearest bedroom it became obvious that the doctor had fought a losing battle. Jeb was already asking questions while Jeanne stood at the side of the room. Her face was desolate but her eyes were dry, and she was talking quietly to the physician.

"Nothin' much I could do, Jeanne," the doctor explained. "Jasper was too far gone by the time I got here."

The marshal broke off his questioning and motioned Bart over towards the spot the ranch owner stood in. "Jeanne Wiley, Dr. Sam Davids, this is a good friend of mine and a fellow lawman, Bart Maverick. He's givin' me some help with the rustling case. Jeanne, tell me what happened."

The girl shot a dubious look at Maverick but answered Jeb's directive anyway. "The herd was up in the north pasture today, and I sent Jasper out there to make sure everything was alright. Almost two hours later his horse came back without him, and two of the boys with the wagon went to find him. Soon as they left I sent for Doc Davids and to find out where you were, marshal. You know the rest."

"I'm truly sorry, Jeanne. Jasper was a good man. Who found him?"

"Bill Brewer and Art Dutton. They went back to help bring in what's left of my stock. They should be back soon. I assume you wanna talk to 'em both?"

"Me or Bart. Doc, what was Jasper shot with?"

Doctor Davids was a full head shorter than the marshal; a man in his early fifties with gray hair and a small mustache, also gray. He wore glasses but tended to look at you over the glasses, rather than through them. "Probably a Winchester, marshal. He'd lost a lot of blood by the time I got here."

"Where was he hit, Doc?" Bart asked.

"In the chest. Coulda been a well-placed shot; coulda been a lucky one. Really doesn't make much difference."

"Anything else we should know?"

"This is the first time anyone's been killed. I don't know what I'm gonna do without Jasper," Jeanne informed the man she'd just met.

"Give us a day or two to see what we can find. Is his horse in the corral?"

'_What an odd question,' _Jeanne thought. "He should be. He's a medium built sorrel with a star on his forehead. Probably still saddled. Are you lookin' for something special?"

The gambler looked down at the woman and noticed for the first time what intense brown eyes she had. "No, ma'am, just lookin.' Sorrel you said?"

She nodded, and Maverick wasted no time in turning and heading for the front door. "Where do you know him from, Jeb?"

Coughlin chuckled. "He was involved in that big counterfeiting case I worked on in St. Louis. He's real good at everything he does."

"And what exactly would that be?"

"Whatever seems to suit his fancy at the moment."

By that time Bart was out in the corral, and he spotted the sorrel right away. He was indeed still saddled and somewhat wild-eyed, and Bart approached the horse carefully, talking to him in a voice he often used on Noble. The animal decided to cooperate and stood still, even allowing the stranger to reach up and grab hold of his reins.

The horse was full of blood, splattered all along his shoulders and up to his withers, and there were large blood stains on the saddle. There was no question that Jasper had been on the sorrel when he was shot. Bart was still looking the animal up and down when Jeb emerged from the house and headed his way.

"A fellow lawman?" Bart asked with what amounted to an inquisitive chuckle.

"What was I supposed to say? My friend the gambler, part-time Pinkerton detective, and blossoming crime-boss? I'd spend the rest of the day explaining to that poor confused woman and she still wouldn't understand you any better than she does right now. So I took the coward's way out and called you a lawman. Besides, you could be if you wanted to be. And you did offer to help."

"Me and my big mouth," the gambler replied. "Someday I'll learn to keep it shut."

"Don't do that for my benefit. I need all the help I can get on this one. And you seem to be the only one around with any inclination to do that." Jeb took a good look at the sorrel and the sorry state he was in. "So Jasper was on him when he was shot."

"Yep. That's what I wanted to know. I take it you're gonna wait and talk to Brewer and Dutton?"

"I am. You can stay here and listen or you can head back to town. When's your poker game start?"

"Friday. So I've got some time to give you." Against his better judgment, Bart yawned. "I think I better head back to town. I wanna see if Jesse and Red are playin' poker tonight, and what they think of this latest development. You sleepin' at the jail?"

"What can I say? It's quiet and free. Come see me when your poker's done for the night."

"No matter what time it is?" the gambler asked.

"No matter what time it is. I'll hear ya."

Bart slapped Jeb on the back. "You got it, compadre." They walked towards the house, Bart mounting his horse and heading back to Telluride. Before Jeb went inside he saw what was left of the herd coming down the hill towards the ranch and he sighed. This was gonna be a long night.


	6. Secrets

Chapter 6 – Secrets

By the time Bart got to Big Ed's that night, word had spread all over town about the death of Jasper Wheeler and the theft of Jeanne Wiley's horses. He found Red Sewell and Jesse Mack sitting at a poker table, along with the man Jeb had identified as Buck Wilson and another newcomer. Dave Jespers was not in attendance; neither was Fred Wasson. Those present were drinking and talking quietly, and Red motioned Bart over to the table as soon as he entered the saloon.

"The man we were just talkin' about," Red remarked. "Buck Wilson, Art Dash, this is Bart Maverick. Bart played poker with us last night but he didn't tell us he was John Law."

"That's because I'm not," Bart explained as he sat down and signaled the bartender for coffee. "The marshal likes to exaggerate. I've worked on some cases for Pinkerton, but that's not my profession."

Wilson spoke up next. "I saw you earlier at Coughlin's office. You work with the marshal before?"

The gambler nodded. "I have, in St. Louis. Jeb saved my life, although he'll deny it if you ask him. When I got into town and found out he could use some help, I figured it was the least I could do."

"If you're not a lawman by profession, Mr. Maverick, what is it you do for a living?" This came from Arthur Dash.

"As little as humanly possible, Mr. Dash," Bart laughed. "I play poker for a living."

"A gambler," Jesse stated.

"No, sir," Bart explained. "Not a gambler. My pappy would kill me if I gambled. Poker is a science when played properly and honestly, and that's the way I was taught and the way I play."

"Maverick, Maverick, I've heard that name before," Buck Wilson stated. "Your father named Beauregard, by any chance?"

"He is, indeed. Best poker player in the country, in his time. Probably still the best."

"My pa told me a story about Beauregard Maverick and a diamond stickpin when I was just a boy. Funny how you remember things, ain't it? So you're workin' with Coughlin', 'eh?"

"In a manner of speaking, Mr. Wilson. As I explained earlier . . . "

"Alright, gentlemen, are we gonna play poker or sit and gossip all night?" Red laughed when he asked the question, but he was anxious to get started with the game.

They'd played for about an hour when Bart finally brought up the subject of Dave Jespers absence. "Didn't have any choice in the matter," was Jesse's explanation. "Dave's back at the ranch with the horses. Gotta protect every one I've got, especially with what happened to Jeanne's herd today. Not to mention Jasper."

"You all still thinkin' about offerin' a reward?"

All heads around the table except Bart's bobbed up and down in agreement. "Do you really think it'll make a difference?"

The gambler turned his head towards the man that had asked the question. "I don't know, Arthur. It might. Like I said last night, money never hurts anything. The problem sure ain't goin' away anytime soon."

"Unless they're ghost riders."

Jesse looked over at Buck. "Ghost riders. Sure weren't no ghost that killed Jasper today."

"No, ghost riders ain't gonna carry a rifle." Red was firm on that subject.

"Whoever it is, they're real alright."

Poker continued, and Bart studied the men he was playing against. Red had an almost casual way of handling the cards; nothing seemed to excite or upset him. Jesse was just the opposite, and it was a lot easier to beat him at the game. Art Dash had a habit of rearranging the cards in his hand again and again when he had nothing to bet on. Buck Wilson was the hardest to read and Bart had the most difficult time with him – and it cost him at least two big pots. He wasn't happy with himself, and chalked it up to worrying too much about what had occurred this afternoon.

It was a 'break-even' night, and by three in the morning Bart was ready to give up and head for the hotel. Then he remembered Jeb's request – _'Come see me when your poker's done for the night'_ – and he was sure it was time to leave. "You all playin' tomorrow night?"

"We'll be here," Jesse answered. "Come on by and join us."

"I just may do that. Thanks for the game, gentlemen." Bart gathered his funds and put the money in his wallet, then stood and tipped his hat to the table. Once he got outside he lit a cigar and took a draw before heading towards the jail. He was down the street when the door to the jail opened and Jeanne Wiley emerged, followed closely by Jeb. For just a moment it looked as if they were about to kiss, but they stopped short. Jeanne mounted her bay and headed out of Telluride, back in the direction of her ranch.

Bart ducked into the doorway of the nearest store and waited for the door to the jail to close before continuing on his way. Jeb had given no indication that he and Jeanne were . . . involved. What else hadn't he told the gambler?


	7. Temporary

Chapter 7 – Temporary

"Well, you give up on poker so soon?" Jeb's expression was perfectly reasonable, but there was a slight edge to the sound of his words. Only five minutes had passed since Jeanne Wiley's departure, and Coughlin suspected that Bart had seen the girl leave.

"Yeah," the gambler laughed. "Tonight wasn't my night. And I kept thinklin' about you over here all by yourself."

"Alright, Amigo. You saw Jeanne?"

"Why didn't you tell me, Jeb? You tryin' to keep it a secret?"

"That's one of the reasons I wanted you to stop by tonight. There was too much happenin' at her place this afternoon, and nobody else knows."

"There's a sort of resemblance . . . she reminds me of Ginny Malone."

Jeb nodded and grinned. "Yeah, I see it too. I got coffee on; you want some?"

"Sure, why not? Are you really sleepin' here?"

"Yeah, I didn't see any reason not to. I got a spare cell if you want it."

The gambler shook his head. "I've spent too many nights in jail; I'd never sleep in one voluntarily." He took the coffee cup the marshal handed him and sat down. "You said tellin' me about the girl was one of the reasons you wanted me to stop by. You got more?"

"Some, but I ain't sure what's fact and what's suspicion at this point. Remember I told you about the tracks I found? After I talked to Bill and Art yesterday, I went to check out the north pasture. There were more unshod pony tracks. Either the rustlers are Indians or somebody's tryin' awful hard to make me believe that."

"Any problem with Indians around here?"

"None recently."

"And the earring?" That had been bothering Bart ever since the marshal showed it to him. What if the rustlers weren't Indians at all, but . . .

"Kids."

The two men sat and stared at each other. "Real live, honest to God – kids?"

Jeb nodded. "I don't mean little ones. But what if . . . what if they were fourteen, fifteen, sixteen years old?"

It was hard to believe . . . until Bart gave it some thought. A bunch of kids as outlaws. The same age him and Earnie and Fred had been when they started planning a saloon robbery. Why not rustle horses instead? So many that age and younger had fought and died in the War. But the earring . . . another red herring or was there a girl involved? "Do you really think . . . ?"

"I don't know. But it's possible, ain't it?"

The room grew still. Jeb retrieved the coffee pot and poured them both another cup. The more each one thought about it, the more plausible the scenario became, until Bart brought up the shooting of Jasper Wheeler. "What about the killin'? And with a rifle, Jeb. Just don't seem like somethin' a kid would do."

"Maybe it ain't all kids. Maybe there's somebody older with 'em. Leadin' 'em, teachin' 'em. Lookin' out for 'em, after a fashion."

The gambler shook his head. "Who's depraved enough to think up somethin' like that?"

"Half the people in this world. Nobody'd expect kids to be horse thieves."

"I don't know, Jeb. One small silver earring and some unshod ponies . . . that's an awful big leap to make."

"Not any bigger than assumin' the Ute Indians have turned into outright horse rustlers."

"I see your point." Bart closed his eyes momentarily and yawned. After two non-stop days he was worn out. "I gotta go get some sleep. You goin' back out to the mountains?"

"Yeah. You wanna try again?"

"I'm game if you are. Just let me get some rest before we start."

Jeb nodded. "That's fair. You come get me when you're ready to go, amigo. You know where I'll be."

Bart stood and headed for the door. "Come lock up behind me."

"Hey, Bart."

Maverick turned around. "Yeah, Jeb."

"Let me deputize you."

Bart cracked a smile. "No, thanks, marshal."

"Everybody in town's expectin' it."

"Since when do you care what everybody in town expects?" There was no malice in the question; Bart naturally wondered why Jeb seemed so sensitive to the townsfolks feelings. Then Jeanne Wiley flashed through his mind, and he remembered what Red Sewell had told him the first night he played poker at Big Ed's_. 'We're still lookin' for a sheriff here in Telluride.'_ Was Jeb thinking about staying in town and taking the sheriff's job? Before the marshal could say anything, Bart asked his next question. "Or is it just what Miss Wiley expects?"

There was an awkward silence between the two friends as Jeb struggled between honesty and pride. "Bart . . . "

"Is it really that important to you, marshal?" The gambler had his own feelings to deal with. He'd played John Law more than once, but 'playing' and 'being' were two different things. The real question came down to what was more important – not being an actual lawman, even for a short time, or supporting a friend that had saved his life? In just a moment the decision was made. "Alright, Jeb, let's do it and get it over with."

By the time Bart Maverick, professional gambler, sometime con man, and full-time ne're do well, walked out of the jail in Telluride, Colorado, he was Deputy U.S. Marshal Bart Maverick. Temporarily.


	8. Forty-One Hundred Dollars

Chapter 8 – Forty-One Hundred Dollars

It was almost afternoon when the gambler woke the next day. Bart shaved, put on clean clothes, and pondered the fact that he'd let the marshal deputize him. He shook his head as if not quite sure why he'd allowed such a travesty; he'd make sure that Jeb knew better than to say anything to his brother, should the two of them meet again.

He stopped at the dining room just long enough to have a cup of coffee, then walked down to the livery and saddled Noble. The buckskin gelding acted a bit odd, almost as if he didn't want to leave his comfortable stall. "What's the matter with you, old man? You gettin' too tired for all this runnin' around?" The horse nickered and shook his head, and as soon as Bart got close he had to move quickly to escape being nipped. "Next time I'll leave you in Little Bend and bring Blue with me. We'll just see how fast you get bored."

He tied Noble to the hitching rail outside of the jail, and the gelding snorted at him. "What is wrong with you?" Bart asked, wondering just what was bothering the horse. He opened the front door and walked into the middle of a meeting that involved several of the men he'd played poker with, others he assumed to be owners of the smaller ranches and Jeanne Wiley. From the sound of the voices it didn't appear to be a friendly one.

"It's been weeks," Buck Wilson stated unnecessarily.

"Without any progress," came from a medium built, light-haired fellow in the corner.

"What do you expect from one man?" the marshal answered back.

"What about gettin' soldiers from Fort Morgan?" Jesse Mack demanded.

"My request was denied. They got troubles of their own up that way."

"Another Federal Marshal?" came a voice from the back of the room.

"Ain't another one in the state." Jeb didn't sound any happier about it than anyone else in the jail.

"Get yourself a deputy," Red Sewell suggested.

Bart would have preferred to remain silent, but he figured his friend had taken enough abuse. "He's got one."

"Since when?"

"Since about four o'clock this morning. While you were all sound asleep in your beds." The badge that he didn't want appeared when Bart pulled back his buckskin jacket. The room grew suddenly quiet.

"What can we do to help?" It was the woman's voice that broke the silence.

"Offer that reward y'all been talkin' about." Maverick sat down in the empty chair next to Jeb's desk while the marshal nodded.

"It might shake somethin' loose," Coughlin suggested.

There was murmuring among the men gathered in the room, but Jeanne was the first to speak up. "I'll put up five hundred dollars."

"Me, too."

"Me, too."

"A thousand dollars from me," Jesse offered.

"I'll match that," came from Red.

"Two hundred."

"Three hundred."

"I ain't got that much," the man in the corner spoke up. "But I got fifty."

"So do I."

"That's forty-one hundred dollars," Coughlin pointed out. "I'll get posters printed and we can put 'em up around town – maybe that'll loosen someone's tongue."

There was some murmuring among the men gathered, until somebody asked, "You think it'll take long, marshal? To catch the rustlers, I mean."

"It ain't gonna happen overnight," Jeb told the crowd. "In the meantime, make sure you watch out for anything that seems different. And don't leave your herd unguarded."

In just a few minutes everyone was gone but Red Sewell and Jeanne Wiley. "You still gonna play in that poker game Friday?" Red asked.

"That's what I came for," Bart answered honestly.

"You sure?"

"I'm sure, Red. This," he fingered the badge, "is only temporary."

"Town still needs a sheriff."

"Not enough money in the world. I like breathin' too much." Sewell laughed and headed for the door. As soon as it closed behind him, Bart turned his attention to the marshal. "You want me to see about the posters?"

"No, we can go to the newspaper office before we leave. Take a look at this, would ya? Jeanne found it in Jasper's saddlebags."

Coughlin handed something small to his new deputy and waited for a reaction. It was a ribbon-like piece of beaded material; Bart had no earthly idea what it might have been or been used for. He looked at it carefully but could make no sense of it; his eyes held nothing but questions when he handed it back to Jeb. "What is it?"

Jeanne spoke up. "Some kind of a band, either used in one's hair or as decoration on a horse's bridal. I've seen some of the Ute women using ribbons like that to secure their braid. But it's awfully small."

"Like you might find on a child?" Bart asked.

"Possibly."

"Any reason for Jasper to have it?"

The rancher shook her head. "None that I know of."

"Another red herring?"

The marshal shrugged his shoulders. "Could be. Or it could be the real thing." After a minute, Jeb turned his attention to Jeanne. "I filled Bart in on my theories last night."

"About the rustlers?"

"And other things."

The girl looked frustrated. There was an awkwardness hanging in the air that hadn't been there before. "We're burying Jasper this afternoon. Will you be there?"

"In the graveyard?"

"Yes."

Jeb and Bart exchanged glances. "Probably not," the marshal answered. "We're goin' back up to where we were yesterday when you found us."

A quick nod of the head was the only acknowledgment. "Stop by on your way back. I'll fix supper."

"Not necessary, Jeanne," Jeb asserted.

The woman seemed to soften visibly. Even the tone of her voice changed. "Yes, it is. You've been working for weeks with no help, no time off, and when a friendly face finally shows up, you have to deputize him. One evening is all I'm asking for – you two can sit and talk, and I can get to know this man you've told me about." She turned to Bart to continue her plea. "Won't you do that, Bart? For Jeb's sake?"

"Yes, ma'am. I think it's a good idea. Maybe we'll have more to talk about by tonight."

She finally smiled. She reminded him even more of Agent Malone when she did that. "It's settled, Jeb. Stop at the ranch on your way back to town."

The marshal sighed. He was outnumbered, and he knew it. "Alright. Let's just hope we can find somethin' more out there. C'mon, Bart, let's get goin'."


	9. New Accommodations

Chapter 9 – New Accommodations

"Don't we have enough now?" The girl was almost seventeen years old, tall and willowy. She sat a horse like she was born on one, and it seemed a perfectly reasonable question to her.

The man was twenty-three, and not much past being a boy himself. He was burned dark by the sun and squinted at her as he answered her dismissively. "We're only doin' this once, Kathy. And if we're gonna make it work we need almost double the amount we've got."

The girl's younger brother agreed. He had just turned fifteen but looked several years older. "They're willin' to buy a thousand head or more. We've got about five hundred. Buddy's right, we can only do this once. But it may be time to get out of Colorado and head for Fort Morgan. Especially after yesterday."

Kathy was defiant; she wasn't going to let her brother – her younger brother – tell her she'd been wrong to shoot the cowboy that had tried to stop them the day before. They'd made a good haul, almost two hundred horses, and she'd done what she had to for them to escape with their bounty. It was the first time anyone had tried to stop them, or even seen them, and they needed to make a clean getaway. "I ain't gonna apologize. I did what I had to. You'd have done the same if you'd been there."

Buddy urged his horse in between the warring siblings. "That's enough from both of you. Ain't gonna do no good now; what's done is done. Let's get outta here and let things settle down for a couple days. Then we can come back and make one more sweep before we head south. We probably been here too long as it is."

Kathy and her brother Spence glared at each other but did as told. All three horses headed towards Durango, on the very edges of the Rio Grande Forest, and left a trail of easily identifiable hoof prints until they disappeared into the brush. Buddy thought about covering their tracks, which he'd done a good job of up until now, then decided it probably wasn't necessary this far into the mountains. It was his first real mistake.

XXXXXXXX

After leaving instructions for the posters with the newspaper office, Jeb and Bart headed back into the San Juan Mountains. They spent most of the afternoon scouring the area they'd been in yesterday, finding nothing of any particular value, before heading towards the Wiley north pasture where Jasper Wheeler had been shot. The sun was beginning to go down when Bart let up a yell and Jeb came galloping back.

"Look what's here," Bart pointed at the ground as both men dismounted.

"Yeah, those are the ones I saw yesterday," Jeb had squatted down to take a closer look at them, while Bart trod carefully for the next few feet, examining the ground thoroughly.

"Jeb, come 'ere." Now it was Bart's turn to look carefully at what he'd found. About three or four feet past the original set of tracks were more – this time it looked like there were two or three ponies involved – none shod. "These are fresh."

"You're right. Let's see where they go." Both men mounted and followed the trail until it disappeared when the ground became almost wholly engulfed by brush. The tracks headed towards Durango, and even in the gathering darkness, Jeb was tempted to keep going. He finally thought better of it and offered a proposal. "How about stayin' the night at the Wiley Ranch and comin' out here early tomorrow? See if we can spot anything in the daylight." The gambler nodded in response and the marshal continued. "I think that's the best idea. Besides, if we don't show up at Jeanne's she'll insist I did it deliberately."

Bart chuckled. "And she'd never let you forget it. Especially . . . "

"Especially what?"

"Especially if you wanna stay in Telluride."

"Now why would I . . . "

"Two words. Jeanne Wiley."

Coughlin never said anything, just turned his horse toward the ranch. Bart followed, and they rode in silence until they were almost there.

"I don't think it's Indians," Bart finally volunteered.

"Why not?"

"Too deliberate. I'm not sure you were right about it bein' kids, but it ain't the Utes."

"I tend to agree with you. I think whoever's involved is tryin' to make us think its Indians." A few short minutes later they arrived in front of the ranch house. "I think we better put the horses in the barn. No sense takin' unnecessary chances."

The gambler nodded, and they walked the animals over to the structure. Bart spent a few extra minutes with Noble, who seemed much calmer than he had this morning. "I'll see what I can bring you in the morning, old man," Bart promised as he left the stall, and the horse shook his head.

"You always talk to him like that?" Jeb asked as they made their way back to the house.

"Yep," the acting deputy answered. "Ever since I first got him." He thought about those days on the Stanhope ranch when he believed he was Doc Holliday and the gelding didn't care who he was. They'd been together a long time, and somehow both of them knew it was coming to an end. Maybe that's why Bart had bought the blue roan mare that was back at home in Little Bend, almost sure that traveling around the country was getting to be too much for the gelding. "Just about time for him to retire."

"That's the way I feel sometimes," the marshal explained as they made their way across the grass in front of the house.

"You're too young to feel that old."

"Bein' John Law takes it outta you in a hurry."

It didn't take long for the front door to swing open once Jeb knocked. Bart blinked when he saw the woman standing there, she looked so different. Her hair was pulled back from her face, and she wore a dress. She appeared younger and prettier; she was smiling, and her eyes sparkled. "Come in, gentlemen. I was beginning to get worried."

Jeb slipped inside and gave her a quick kiss on the cheek; Bart following him in. "I had to wait for Bart to kiss his horse goodnight."

"Behave, marshal, no sense gettin' ugly about things." The gambler was almost smiling when he said it.

"I've got some fresh coffee made. You two want some?"

"Sure."

"Yes, ma'am."

"I made stew for supper. I'll get you some soon as it heats up. Go sit in front of the fire." Jeanne disappeared into the kitchen and emerged a few minutes later carrying a tray that held three cups of coffee and a coffee pot.

"How was the service for your foreman?" Bart asked as she poured full cups for all three of them.

"Brief. Jasper didn't have any family; it was just me and the boys. At least we were there for him." She turned back to the marshal. "Did you find anything in the mountains?"

"As a matter of fact," Bart explained as Jeb drank coffee, "we did. But it was almost dark and we weren't gonna see anything else tonight."

"Can we bunk here, Jeanne? That way we can get an early start tomorrow." Jeb asked the question, knowing full well what the answer would be.

"Of course. There's plenty of room in here or out in the bunkhouse. Wherever you're more comfortable."

"Shouldn't matter to Jeb. He's been sleepin' in an empty jail cell." Bart laughed.

"Why?" Jeanne asked as she headed back out to the kitchen to retrieve the stew. Both men were chuckling when she returned with two big bowls full.

"No reason not to. It's free and the cells are empty. I offered Bart one, but he wasn't interested."

"You have something against free?"

"No, I have something against jails."

Jeanne was confused. "But I thought . . . "

"That I was another lawman? Only in Jeb's imagination." Bart offered a brief explanation of the case he'd worked on in St. Louis and his status as a 'part-time, temporary' Pinkerton agent. And why it was easier to let the residents of Telluride believe what they believed. By the time he was done both men had finished their stew and Jeanne Wiley was laughing.

"Oh, my. I'm afraid being friends with Jeb has caused you a lot of unnecessary trouble."

Bart shrugged his shoulders. "Maybe. Maybe not. But it's definitely kept me alive."


	10. One Step Forward

Chapter 10 – One Step Forward

Both spent the night in the bunkhouse; the marshal was awake first but his deputy wasn't far behind him. Jeanne already had breakfast started by the time they got to the house, and the men sat and drank coffee while she finished.

"Back up to the north pasture?" Bart questioned as he cleaned his plate.

"Yep," Jeb agreed. "Let's see if we can find any more tracks."

"How far's Durango from there?"

"Maybe thirty miles," Jeanne answered. "It's only about twenty from Telluride. Do you think that's where they went?" She retrieved a carrot from the kitchen, per Bart's request, and he gave her a smile in return. It might not be an apple, but it should satisfy the gelding that waited in the barn.

Jeb nodded in answer to her question. "Maybe not to the town itself, but at least farther south. There's not much but forest between here and Durango. It'd be a good place to hide a herd. And it looks like that's what they're puttin' together."

"Know of anybody that's lookin' for one to buy?"

"Not off the top of my head. Maybe down in Texas."

"Or Mexico?" Bart asked.

"That's always a possibility. I'll send some wires when we get back to town. In the meantime, let's get goin'." Jeb reached out and took Jeanne's hand in his. "You keep all them ponies down here for now. And don't take no chances."

"Yes, marshal. You two stay safe."

Within a few minutes Noble was munching happily on the gift he'd received. "You spoil him," Jeb stated unnecessarily.

Bart scratched the gelding's neck as he tightened the girth on the saddle. "He's worth spoilin'. You got no idea how many times he's saved my life."

"How well does he follow tracks?"

"Let's go find out."

XXXXXXXX

Late in the afternoon they returned to Telluride, having spent most of the day searching for any further trace of the rustlers. When none could be found the decision was made to get the reward notices posted and send half a dozen well-placed wires in the hopes of determining who was in the market for a large herd.

Both men were worn out and returned to the jail to plan their next move. There they found a message waiting for them from Jesse Mack – curt and to the point, just like Jesse. _'Got some information you'll be interested in. Come out to the J Bar M around seven and have supper. Jesse.'_

"Wonder what Jesse found out?" Coughlin asked.

Bart pulled out his watch and looked at it. "Almost six now. Let me go get cleaned up and I'll be back by six-thirty. Is that enough time?"

"Yep. See you later, amigo."

Less than thirty minutes later Bart was back – cleaned, shaved, and dressed more like a gambler than a deputy marshal. Jeb had done some repair work of his own, and whistled when the front door to the jail opened. "You clean up nice for a deputy," he laughed.

"I had to. I was beginning to smell like horse." Bart leaned against Jeb's desk before asking, "You got any idea what this is about?"

Coughlin shook his head. "Nope. I kept runnin' back over everything but nothin' new popped up."

"At least we get supper out of it."

"Yeah, Jesse's got himself a real good cook, too."

"Well, let's go then. I'm starved." Bart grinned and headed for the front door, with Jeb right behind him.

XXXXXXXX

"That was an excellent supper, Jesse. Thanks for the invite. But we're still waitin' to hear your new information." Coffee and brandy were currently being consumed in the front room by the men who had just finished their meal and a late arrival, Red Sewell.

"Well, Marshal, I wanted to wait until Red got here, since he's the one that heard about it."

All eyes turned to Red. "Remember when Art Dash got hit a while back? They got his winter herd and half a dozen of his best breeding stock. That was right before Bart got here."

Coughlin nodded. "I do. Has somethin' turned up that I missed?"

Sewell shook his head. "You didn't miss it. Billy Dash found somethin' and forgot about it until just the other day." Red reached into his pocket and pulled out something small and silver and handed it to Jeb. It wasn't difficult to identify – it was the mate to the earring that Jeb had shown Bart.

"Look familiar?" Jeb asked as he handed it to Maverick.

"Sure does. Did he say where he found it, Red?" Bart asked.

"At the creek on the far side of their property. Real close to where the breedin' stock was pilfered from."

Jeb kept examining the earring, "If I go out there in the mornin' will Billy be able to show me where, exactly?"

Red nodded. "I expect so. I told Art you'd probably wanna come out and take a look around."

"You've seen somethin' like this before?" Jesse asked.

Coughlin pulled the original earring from his pocket. "Right here. It was the first thing I found."

"Utes?"

Bart answered the question. "That's what I asked him. But I don't think so."

"You got anybody else in mind?"

"Not for certain. Not yet. But we're workin' on it." The marshal almost smiled. "Bart, there's no sense of you goin', too. See if we get any answers to those wires we sent. You boys playin' poker tonight?"

"Not tonight. Looks like everybody was pretty shook up about Jasper bein' killed yesterday."

Maverick nodded. "Game still on for Friday?"

"So far. Depends on what happens before then." Jesse poured himself another brandy. "Anybody else?"

"Thanks, Jesse, but if I'm goin' out to Art Dash's ranch in the mornin', I wanna get some sleep tonight. Bart, you ready to go?"

"Sleep sounds like a good idea. Thanks for supper, Jesse. Red, catch you later."

The night was still, and it was a peaceful ride back to town. They were almost at the livery before anything was said. "I didn't mean to tell you not to go with me tomorrow, I just figured you'd probably had enough lookin' and pokin' and not findin' anything. You're welcome if you wanna come."

"No, but there is somethin' I wanna do. I'll catch up with you tomorrow night."

Once the horses were stabled for the night, the two friends headed up the street. "Sorry to drag you into this mess," Jeb apologized when they got to the jail.

"You didn't drag me into anything. But I sure would feel better if we could find somethin' besides girls earrings and unshod pony tracks. Maybe tomorrow. Goodnight, Jeb."

The marshal nodded. He wasn't about to pry into whatever Bart was thinking; he knew first hand that when the gambler had an idea it was usually best to let him investigate on his own. "I'll see you tomorrow. Adios, amigo."

Coughlin watched as Bart crossed the street and went into the hotel. He stood a minute more inside the doorway to the jail, thinking about Jeanne Wiley and his future in this town, and what a good friend Maverick had turned out to be. Then he went inside and locked the door.


	11. Slow

Chapter 11 – Slow

"Sorry it took me so long to remember the earring, marshal." It was the third or fourth time Billy Dash had apologized, and Jeb sighed once again. There might have been something to find, some clue to the identity of the rustlers to discover, if Billy had notified Coughlin sooner. Now it was too little, too late.

"And it was where, exactly?" This time Jeb dismounted and waited for Billy to do the same.

"Right under that little patch down there." The youngster pointed out a spot about two feet away from Jeb's feet, and the marshal bent down to take a closer look, but there was nothing further to be found. Any tracks that might have existed were long gone.

"When you and your pa came up to bring the herd in?"

"Yes, sir. The only reason I found it was because the sun was so bright. I pulled my hat forward to shield my eyes and that's when I saw it." There was no sense being upset, Jeb reminded himself. Billy was only fourteen and had simply forgotten about the earring. "I'm just . . . "

"I know, Billy. You're sorry." The marshal was exasperated with the whole situation and his own inability to find any more clues. He wasn't sure what he'd intended to accomplish by deputizing Bart; he was just hoping his friend would see something he was missing. Instead, there were now two of them spinning their wheels and finding nothing significant instead of just one.

Jeb spent another few minutes checking the area – to make sure he hadn't missed anything. Finally he mounted his horse and headed back to town, while Billy returned to his father's ranch. Once in Telluride there was more than enough to keep Jeb busy, and he spent the rest of the day checking the telegraph office for answers to the wires he'd sent and talking to the shopkeepers around town regarding the posted reward.

Once or twice he went by the hotel to see if Bart had gotten back to Telluride, but before he knew it night had fallen and there was still no sign of the gambler. In desperation Jeb walked down to the livery and found Billy Joe and Everett cleaning the place. Much to the marshal's surprise, Noble was standing at the hitching post out front. As soon as he caught sight of Jeb the horse grew restless and started pawing in the dirt. Something was bothering him.

"Billy Joe, when did Bart get back?"

The livery owner turned to the marshal in bewilderment. "I didn't know he was back. Everett, did you see Mr. Maverick bring his gelding in?"

Everett looked up from the pitchfork full of clean hay he was putting in a stall. "Nope, I didn't see Mr. Maverick. I saw that old cantankerous son-of-a-gun standin' out front and just assumed he'd been left to be put away. He was next on my list, as a matter of fact."

"When was that?" Jeb asked.

"Right after the sun went down," Everett replied. "Maybe twenty, thirty minutes ago."

The marshal hurried over to the gelding, who bobbed his head in recognition and snorted. There was a discoloration on his muzzle and Jeb tried to get a better look at it without upsetting the animal any further. Then he noticed a similar spot on Noble's left knee and reached out to touch it – the blotch was dark and sticky. Blood. Jeb grabbed the bridle and pulled the horse's muzzle closer until he could reach the dark spot. It was the same, tacky and red. More blood. It didn't appear to belong to the horse.

Coughlin wasted no time. He hurriedly saddled his mount and grabbed the gelding's reins. In less than five minutes he'd led Noble far enough away from the livery to turn him loose and follow the horse south, towards Durango. There was no hesitation, and they rode for six or seven miles until the gelding veered southwest and headed up San Miguel Peak. In less than ten minutes the rocky terrain opened into a small clearing and Jeb could see something on the ground, near the far edges of the open field.

XXXXXXXX

His head hurt, his shoulder hurt, and the whole left side of his body hurt – especially where he'd slammed into the ground when the bullet hit him and knocked him sideways. His eyes were open but he couldn't see anything, and it took a few minutes to realize it was almost dark outside. He tried listening carefully, to determine if he recognized anything that sounded familiar, but the only noise that penetrated was the persistent snorting of the gelding and the gentle push of the animal's muzzle against his head.

Within what seemed like moments everything was once again quiet and still, and he had no idea that time had passed and he'd been unconscious. He tried to remember what happened but the only thing he could visualize was the young boy riding the paint pony through the trees and his urging Noble to follow. Without warning the gunshot rang in his ears, and he felt the impact of the bullet as it slammed into him with such unexpected force that it pushed him out of the saddle and over the gelding's shoulder. He tried to move but even the slightest attempt hurt, and he finally gave up and lay still.

Time passed; of that he was certain, but how much time was the question. Slowly he realized Noble was no longer nearby, and he could only hope that the animal would make his way back to town and be noticed by someone who'd wonder what happened to his rider. He moaned softly, knowing that it wouldn't do any good but feeling the need to verbalize some of the pain he felt.

His consciousness slipped away again; when he became aware of his surroundings he believed himself imagining the sounds that came to him; the plop-plop-plop that Noble made when he was approaching at a cautious pace, followed by another horse, a strange steady sound that grew louder with each step. Then the horses' hooves stopped, and he could hear a body hit the ground and mumble something unintelligible. The word was repeated twice more before it finally became clear enough to be understood – "Bart."

He tried to speak but could only issue another moan, followed by a partial grunt. Then the person had their hands on his shoulders, slowly turning him over so that he was no longer face down in the dirt, and even though pain shot through his body it was blessed relief when he saw a familiar face and knew that he had been found.

XXXXXXXX

The gelding slowed down and came to a halt, carefully nuzzling the object on the ground. Jeb pulled his own horse up and slid out of the saddle, gently grasping the man by the shoulders and turning him over. He kept calling "Bart" until his friend's eyes slowly opened and the marshal breathed a sigh of relief, knowing he'd arrived in time. It was too dark to see much but he could feel the warm, sticky wetness on Bart's right shoulder, and he did his best to stay away from the wound. "Can you hear me, amigo?"

Some kind of a moan escaped from the injured man, and the marshal stated the obvious. "This ain't gonna be easy, friend. You hit anyplace else?"

"Head . . ." the answer came back, and while he could see a dark spot across the top of Bart's head, in the dimness it didn't look like a bullet wound.

"Can you ride?"

"Get me . . . up," Maverick pleaded, and Jeb attempted to do just that. It took time and effort, but the marshal finally succeeded in getting the gambler mostly upright, leaning heavily against the gelding. The moon had risen and there was just enough light to examine the head injury . . . and the marshal's earlier assessment appeared to be correct . . . there was a rapidly purpling bruise and some blood, but no trace of a bullet.

"You ready for me to try this?"

"Yeah," the murmured answer came back, and the injured man grabbed the saddle horn with his left hand and pulled, while Coughlin did his best to get Bart up on the horse. The gelding stood perfectly still. Jeb gave one final push and the gambler swung his right leg over the saddle, almost immediately slumping over the animal's neck and holding on for dear life.

"Hang on, Bart," Jeb pleaded. "That's the only way I can get you back to town. We gotta take this slow."

"Slow," the wounded man repeated and gritted his teeth.

"That's right, amigo. Nice and slow. Just hang on and I'll get ya there." Coughlin grabbed the gelding's reins and they started back to Telluride. Neither man was aware that the shooter waited to see if she'd succeeded in hitting her mark for the second time in three days. And neither man would have believed the deadliest rustler in the territory was, at that moment, an almost seventeen-year-old girl.


	12. The Badge

Chapter 12 – The Badge

"He's lost a lot of blood, marshal." The words were said quietly and calmly, almost like they'd been said a thousand times before. Maybe they had, but Jeb hadn't heard them spoken about anyone he knew. He didn't take them quite as calmly as Doctor Davids said them.

"I know he has, Doc, but there was no other way to get him back here."

"It was a through-and-through, Jeb, that's why it bled so much. Probably the same kind of gun that was used on Jasper."

"So probably the same shooter?"

The doctor shrugged as he finished bandaging Bart Maverick's right shoulder. Jeb had insisted on staying in the exam room while Doc did his repair work. "I can't answer that one."

"What now?"

"I'd like to keep him here tonight. He'll probably sleep most of the night, anyway. If the stitches look good in the morning, you can move him to his hotel room."

"And if they don't?"

Doctor Davids smiled. "You like to plan for all contingencies, don't you? If they don't look good I'll keep him another day or two. You're not going to lose your deputy, marshal. But I don't think that's what you're worried about, is it? You're not going to lose your friend, either. He's gonna be in some pain for a while – that lump on his head is as nasty as can be – but he is going to recover. So you can quit holding your breath. He's a lot luckier than Jasper was."

Jeb moved to Bart's left side and laid his hand on the gambler's good shoulder. "Feel better, amigo. I've got some questions for you." His gaze shifted to the doctor. "I'm headed to the livery. I'll be back soon as I get things settled down there."

The doctor nodded and Jeb left the exam room. He walked down the street, past the closed shops, and wished for all the world that Benson's General Store was open. Right now he wanted nothing quite as much as an apple to take to the 'spoiled' gelding. No matter what the animal may or may not have done in the past, he more than proved his worth tonight. The marshal would never again be critical of his friend's treatment of the horse.

Billy Joe was still awake, having just finished taking care of the two exhausted animals the marshal had left with him. His own mount was happily munching fresh hay, but the gelding stood wide-eyed and nervous, not touching any of the food left for him. His ears perked up and both swiveled forward as soon as he caught sight of Jeb. His head bobbed up and down for a moment and he nickered softly.

"I don't have anything for you, Noble, except good news. Bart's gonna be fine, thanks to you. It'll be a few days, but your gamblin' man's comin' back to you. And I promise I'll bring somethin' for you when I come in next time." Without thinking he reached out a hand to stroke the horse's newly cleaned muzzle, and Noble stood still and allowed the marshal to touch him. "Well, that'd be somethin' for your partner to see, wouldn't it?"

Billy Joe stood and watched the exchange. "He even let me clean the blood off." Then he shook his head. "That is the strangest animal . . . "

"Only one man in the world, far as he's concerned. Sure did right by his man tonight, I'll tell ya that."

As Jeb turned to leave the horse bent his head and began to eat. The marshal walked back out into the night air and finally let go a breath. Now all he had to worry about was . . . everything.

XXXXXXXX

He'd stopped in at the jail before returning to Doc Davids office. Whether Bart Maverick wanted to sleep in a cell or not, that's exactly where Jeb intended to move him when he was allowed to leave Doc's. At least that way Coughlin could take care of his friend and do whatever was necessary while the gambler recuperated.

By the time he returned to the doctor's it was almost daylight. He found the physician asleep in his office and left him there, going back to the exam room to see if Bart was awake. To his surprise the gambler's eyes were open.

"Hey," Bart managed when Jeb came into his line of vision.

"You're awake." The marshal stood next to the uninjured shoulder.

"Sorta."

"How's it feel?"

"Like . . . I was . . . shot."

"Good guess. What do you remember?" Jeb had to wait a minute or two for an answer, but finally Bart gave him one.

"Saw paint . . . pony. Kid on board. Must have . . . seen me. He . . . ran. We went . . . " It grew quiet, and Jeb waited to see if there was any more coming. Finally, there was. " . . . after him. Then . . . "

The marshal grabbed a chair and moved it beside the exam table. Another minute went by before he asked the next question as he sat down. "You got shot?"

"Yeah."

"Doc said it was a through-and-through. If it looks okay today he'll let you go."

"Where?"

Jeb didn't really want to give Bart an answer, knowing how he felt about sleeping in jails, but there was no other way. "At my place." The wounded man made no reply and Coughlin leaned over the exam table. Asleep or unconscious, Bart's eyes were once again closed. "Bart?"

"Hmm?" Even with the response, the eyes stayed closed.

"You said it was a kid?"

"Mmm-hmm. Fifteen, sixteen. In a . . . hurry."

There didn't seem much sense in continuing to ask questions, and Jeb stood up to leave. As he did so, Bart murmured, "Right. You were . . . right."

The door opened and Doc Davids came hurrying inside. "Why didn't you wake me?" He bent over the patient for his next inquiry. "Mr. Maverick?"

"Hmm?"

When there was no further response the doctor reached down and pulled open an eyelid, then quickly let go when it became evident the wounded man was asleep.

"That's why I didn't wake you. He's been in and out for a while."

The doctor nodded. "Best to let him sleep. Don't come back until later; he needs the rest more than anything."

"Don't let anybody else in, Doc. I ain't sure who did this."

XXXXXXXX

"You didn't!" Buddy almost grabbed the girl and shook her, he was so mad.

"Ain't no sense yellin' at me, I did. What was I supposed to do? He was chasin' Spence and was beginnin' to catch up to him." She folded her arms across her chest and glared defiantly.

"Did you kill this one, too?"

She shook her head, obviously upset. Buddy just wasn't sure why she was upset. "No. He's alive."

"How do you know that?"

She turned her back on Buddy and Spence before she answered. "Because I went back to see if'n I did. Some badge came and hauled his sorry butt away. Alive."

Spence was scared; you could see it in his eyes and hear it in his voice. "We gotta get outta here."

"No. They'd catch us for sure if we did that. We'll do what I said we was gonna do the last time. Lay low and let the horses graze for a few days. When things settle back down we'll leave. Not until." Buddy marched over to Kathy's horse and pulled the Winchester from its scabbard. "You ain't carryin' this no more. You're too dangerous with it."

Kathy spun around and got practically in Buddy's face. "What would you have done if he'd been caught? Then you'd be yellin' at me for not usin' it."

"We need to get the horses and get outta here now," Spence pleaded.

"No. Not until the rest of 'em get here with the herd. You stay outta sight from now on. In case that badge comes snoopin' around down here. Both of ya. You two almost caused more trouble than you're worth. I knew you was too young to be in on this."

"Too young? It was my idea," Kathy practically growled at Buddy.

"Yeah, and it was me that brought the rest of the boys in. I shoulda left you both in that dirty old shack you was livin' in. One more piece a trouble and you're out. Both of ya."

The girl knew it was finally time to shut up. At least until the rest of the crew returned from Navajo Lake and she had somebody to back her up. She was sure they'd follow her rather than Buddy, even if he was older. Then she'd get the Winchester back, and deal with him however she saw fit.


	13. Riding South

Chapter 13 – Riding South

"What happened?"

Jeanne Wiley and Jeb Coughlin were standing inside Bart Maverick's new home, at least for the time being; the empty jail cell that had been fixed up so the wounded man had a place to convalesce. Doctor Davids had kept Maverick at his office an extra day while the ranch owner helped the federal marshal convert the cell into a more adequate room. It wasn't ideal, but at least Jeb could keep an eye on the man he'd talked into serving as his 'temporary' deputy.

"I'm not completely sure," he began. "Bart went out by himself and didn't come back. Noble turned up after dark and led me up San Juan Peak. That's where I found him."

Jeanne didn't appear surprised. "Any idea who shot him?"

"Nope, but Doc says it looks like the same kinda gun that got Jasper."

"He's not gonna be happy with you, knowing the way he feels about sleeping in jails," the woman offered.

"What am I supposed to do? I can't leave him alone in his room, and I gotta be here. At least I can keep an eye on him. Mrs. Blaylock will come over with meals and to sit with him if I have to leave for somethin'. It's only for a few days, at most." The gambler was asleep at the moment, having just been moved from the doctor's exam room within the last hour.

"Did you get to talk to him at all?"

"A little. He wasn't real coherent, and I've got more questions for him."

They moved out of the cell, leaving the door wide open, and over to Jeb's desk. "You look like you could use some sleep yourself."'

"I could. But not right now; I need to know what Bart knows. I got the feelin' there's more he hasn't told me."

"Jeb . . . "

"Yes, ma'am?"

"What are you gonna do if there's nothing else?"

Coughlin sat on the corner of his desk and shook his head. "I don't know, Jeanne. I'm just about out of ideas. I keep thinkin' somebody's got to know somethin', or seen somethin', but it's been weeks and there's nothin' new. I don't know . . . where else to turn."

"South."

The marshal looked up, startled. The remark had come from the newly occupied jail cell. "Bart?"

"South."

"Are you serious?" Jeb was quickly standing by the wounded man's bedside.

The gambler glanced around and winced when he tried to move, then asked weakly, "Am I in jail? You did that to me?"

Jeanne laughed as she stepped into the cell. "Told you."

"What was I supposed to do? You need somebody around for a few days, and I'm all you got right now." The marshal turned his head. "Jeanne, could you get me some water?" Then he turned back to Bart. "Are you serious? About south, I mean?"

When Jeanne brought the water, Jeb lifted the wounded man's head and helped him drink almost a full glass, then handed the remainder back to the ranch owner. She leaned over and said something to the marshal before telling the gambler, "I'll be back later."

Coughlin watched her leave before explaining, "Lawman business. She knows it's private." He lowered the gambler's head back to the pillow before asking, "Do you feel up to talking?"

"South," Maverick repeated for the third time. "The kid was headed south. Pinto pony, and he knew I was after him."

"Did you see who shot you?"

"No. Came from behind. Dropped me, and I hit hard. Last night?"

Jeb shook his head. "Night before last. Doc had you yesterday, didn't want to move you right away. Says you're gonna be fine, by the way."

"Noble?"

"That's how I found you. Kept lookin' for you to get back; finally walked down to the livery and the dang horse was standin' out front waitin' for somebody to pay attention to him. Followed him all the way back up San Juan Peak, led me straight to you."

Bart managed a slight grin. "Spoiled, huh?"

"Not in the least, amigo. He's been well taken care of since. He even let me touch him."

The gambler closed his eyes and looked pleased. "Gettin' mellow in his old age." A minute passed, and his eyes opened again. "Headed from here straight to Durango. Found tracks and just kept goin'. Whoever the rustlers are, they're movin' the horses south. Stopped to fill the canteen and saw the kid in the clearing. Must have seen me because he took off on that pony."

"How old was he, Bart?"

"Sixteen, seventeen maybe. Not much more than that."

"You said tracks. How many did it look like?"

"More water?"

"Sure." Jeb left the cell and poured another glass, then hurried back. "Are you hungry? I can get food from Mrs. Blaylock."

When Bart was done with the second glass of water, he tried to nod. "Bad idea," he murmured, then tried a verbal answer instead. "I could eat . . . somethin'."

Jeb found Jeanne sitting in a chair outside the jail. "You didn't go far."

"Thought you might need me. Is he still awake?"

"Yeah. Can you get him some food? And grab somethin' for me while you're at it." He thought for a minute, then finished, "And you, too, if you're hungry."

XXXXXXXX

Three days later Doc pronounced the gambler well enough to leave the jail and return to the hotel. Even though living in the jail hadn't been as bad as he'd expected it to be, he was pleased to be back in his own room.

The poker game was postponed until further notice; in other words, until the rustlers could be caught. A day later Bart couldn't stand being confined anymore, and Jeb walked slowly with him down to the livery. The gelding seemed to be on his best behavior and even acted like a gentleman around the marshal, at least until he discovered there were no more apples headed his way and his attitude returned to one far more normal.

"You're the one's been layin' around thinkin' for the last few days, amigo. You got any ideas about where we go next?" Coughlin asked the question with a certain amount of humor, but he desperately hoped that Bart might actually have thought of something useful they could try.

"Maybe," was the answer that came back to him. "You ever get answers from all the wires you sent? Anybody lookin' for a herd?"

"Two, as a matter of fact. Fort Morgan needs horses, and Durango."

"Durango? Why didn't you say so?"

"Don't get excited, amigo," Jeb counseled. "I meant Durango, Mexico. The Federales want at least a thousand head."

"And Fort Morgan?"

"A minimum of two hundred. That's probably about all they've got room for."

"Did you wire both of 'em back to see if anybody's come forward yet?" the gambler asked.

"Yep. Waitin' for an answer from Durango. Colonel Emery at Fort Morgan said he was contacted by a fella named Buddy Walters. Promised the two hundred head in thirty days."

"That's all Emery knows?"

"That's all he knows."

"Be easy enough to supply horses to both places, don'tcha think?"

"Sure, if you had enough wranglers to head 'em south and just keep goin'."

"Whatta you say we go back to the spot where you found me and head . . . south?"

"Towards Durango?"

"The city of, yeah."

"You sure you can ride that far?"

Bart gave Jeb a withering look. "If I can survive sleepin' in a jail cell, I can survive ridin' to Durango."

"First thing tomorrow?"

"Bright and early," the gambler replied, chuckling. "No later than nine o'clock."


	14. Road to Durango

Chapter 14 – Road to Durango

Bart might have joked about leaving no later than nine o'clock, but that's actually when he and Jeb got started. They rode to the clearing where Bart had been shot and backtracked to the stream where he'd stopped to fill his canteen. "That's where I first saw him – over there," he pointed out, a little to the east, and that's where they rode. They caught the first break they'd gotten in a long time when Jeb found horses tracks – unshod tracks – just where Bart had spotted the boy on the pinto pony. And the tracks ran, clear as day, straight across the back road to Durango.

They rode for what seemed like hours, yet the tracks stayed visible. A little further on they were even joined by another pony. "The shooter?" Bart speculated.

"Probably," Jeb answered.

They were just a few miles out of Durango when the trail finally vanished, obscured by what appeared to be tracks from a whole herd – of horses that had been shod. "Looks like we found the stolen horses. At least part of them."

Bart nodded his agreement. "There's more pony tracks, too. There was more than two people with this bunch."

"Shall we keep goin'?" Bart asked.

"To Durango?"

"Sounds like the place to go, don't you think?"

Jeb nodded. "I do, amigo."

They kept on riding south and only spent another hour on the trail. When they got into Durango the town was quiet and sleepy, and they went straight to the livery. There they found Billy Joe Jackson's counterpart, this one named Even Dunstead, and dismounted when he agreed to answer a few questions.

"Mr. Dunstead, I'm Jeb Coughlin, Federal Marshal. This is my Deputy, Bart Maverick. We'd like to ask you some questions about unfamiliar horses in town. Have you seen any recently?"

Dunstead scratched his chin while he thought. "Not that I can remember, marshal. I . . . now wait a minute, there was a herd that came through here five or six days ago."

"About two hundred head?" the gambler questioned.

"Yeah, I'd say that's a good estimate. I wouldn't a thought too much about it, cept for who was herdin' 'em."

"Who was it, Mr. Dunstead?" Jeb was willing to work as hard as he had to to pry the information out of the livery man.

"Why, kids. It was kids. Never seen nothin' like it. There was an older one, maybe twenty-two, twenty-three, and a fifteen or sixteen-year-old boy ridin' a paint pony. And the strangest of the bunch . . . a girl, couldn't tell just how old, ridin' a regular saddle with a rifle in the scabbard. Looked like she coulda bit the head off a snake. Don't know how I coulda forgot her."

Jeb turned to the gambler. "That's most likely your shooter."

"Yeah, cause I was sure chasin' the paint pony."

"Do you remember which way they were headed, Mr. Dunstead?"

The livery man nodded his head and looked right pleased with himself. "Yes, sir. They was headed for Fort Morgan. In a right big hurry, too."

"Thanks, Mr. Dunstead. You've been a big help," Bart explained as he and Jeb mounted their horses.

As soon as they were out of earshot the gambler laid out his question. "How far to Fort Morgan?"

"Too far from here. Let's go back to Telluride and head to the Fort in the morning." Jeb let a grin flash across his face. "That's if you can get up before nine o'clock."

"You're just mean, marshal. And after I took a bullet for you."

"Well, you haven't proven to me that you can do it, yet."

Bart chuckled. "There's no poker tonight, so I can meet you anytime you want."

"Okay, how about seven o'clock, amigo?"

"You do mean in the morning?"

Jeb let loose with a laugh. "You should see the look on your face."

"Alright, I'll meet you at seven o'clock, but it' got to be at Cindy's. I'm not goin' anywhere on an empty stomach. Especially after that little lady. You know, the one with the Winchester?"

Jeb heaved a big sigh. "You just can't find good deputies these days."

"No, marshal, you sure can't."

XXXXXXXX

Jeb and Bart were just finishing breakfast when Jeanne Wiley entered. Bart waved to her and she came over to their table. "I saw your note on the door. Where are you headed?"

"Fort Morgan," Bart told her.

"Just out for a ride or do you have a lead on something?"

"More like someone," came back Jeb's reply. "Sit down, Jeanne."

Bart quickly got to his feet and pulled Jeanne's chair out for her. "Don't do that, Bart."

"And why not?" the gambler asked.

"Because she'll expect me to do it for her."

Jeanne gave the marshal a dirty look. "And just what would be wrong with that?"

"I don't want you to learn any bad habits."

Bart signaled their waitress over. "More coffee, please, and a fresh cup for the lady."

"Will you two please be careful today?"

"Now what would make you think we're not careful?" Bart smirked just a little as he asked that.

"Oh, I don't know. I suppose I should be thankful that only one of you's been shot."

"So far," the marshal reminded her.

"Will you be back today?"

"Probably late this evening. We've got a lot of people to talk to," Coughlin gave her the best answer he could give her.

"I guess we better get going then, hadn't we, marshal?" the gambler asked in all seriousness.

"Yeah. I got a surprise for you, amigo."

"What's that, Jeb?"

The marshal pulled an apple out of his pocket. "Here, see if you can keep your horse happy. We got a long ride ahead of us."

Bart's eyes lit up. "I'm sure that'll do the trick."


	15. Fort Morgan

Chapter 15 – Fort Morgan

It was a long ride to the fort, and both men were happy to dismount once they got there. They went to see Colonel Emery first, and he provided a bit more information. "Have a seat, gentlemen. I was about to have some coffee. Will you join me?"

"Yes, sir."

"Sure."

Once they all three had coffee the colonel told them everything he knew about the people that had contacted him. "Said his name was Buddy Walters. He was twenty-two, twenty-three maybe. Tall, thin, sandy-haired. He was the only one I spoke to, but I saw the two riders he had with him. A boy, dark-haired, somewhere around sixteen, riding a paint pony. And a girl, looked like the boy's sister. Maybe seventeen, dark-haired, riding a bay mare and carrying a rifle. She wore a dress but didn't ride side-saddle.

"Walters asked how many horses we needed and promised me he could deliver two hundred head. Told me they'd be here in thirty days. That was almost a month ago, and I haven't heard anything since."

"Did he give you any idea what kind of horses he was bringing? Or where he was gettin' them from?" Bart asked.

"No, but he seemed well aware of the army's requirement for the kind of horses we'd accept. I got the feeling this wasn't the first time he'd done this."

"Did any of them talk to anyone besides you?" This question came from Jeb.

"I sent him over to see my blacksmith. Trooper Vaness. You might go talk to him."

"Thank you for your time, Colonel." The three men shook hands and Jeb and Bart left. Once they got outside they discussed what the colonel had told them.

"That's them, Jeb. The boy on the paint pony confirmed it."

"Here's the part that gives me pause, amigo . . . sounds like the shooter is the girl. Especially if the boy ridin' the paint is her brother."

Bart gave that conclusion some thought. "Makes sense, Jeb. I was chasin' her brother and . . . she shot me."

"You think she's the one that killed Jasper?"

"Probably. Unless there's more than one of 'em totin' rifles around. And nobody's mentioned anyone with a gun like that except the girl." Bart didn't like thinking of a teenage girl as a killer . . . but if the shoe fit . . .

The two men took a minute to digest this information. "Well, let's go find Vaness. See if he knows anything else."

They headed for the army stables and quickly located Vaness. It didn't sound like he was going to be too much help. "Nope, didn't see nothin' outstanding about 'em. Three kids, a girl and two boys. We talked for a few minutes about what the army looks for in a mount and whether the horses were saddle-broke. That's about it."

Jeb pulled the earrings out of his pocket. "Was the girl wearin' anything like this?"

Vaness examined them. "Coulda been. Can't say for certain, though."

"Did you hear anybody call any of the others by name?"

"Yeah. The girl called the youngest boy Spence."

"Thanks, Trooper," Bart told the blacksmith. As they rode away, the gambler turned to the marshal. "Now what?"

"Now, my friend, we wait."

XXXXXXXX

"Told you they was after us. Now whatta we gonna do?" Kathy was angry. If Buddy had just listened to her they'd have forgotten Fort Morgan and been halfway to Mexico by this time.

"If you was a better shot the dark-haired fella'd be dead."

Kathy whirled on her brother. "You stay outta this, Spence."

Buddy turned on both of them. "Shut up, both of you. We ain't goin' back to the fort. We'll take 'em down to Mexico and sell 'em."

"What we got now or are we waitin' for Jeremy and Kenny to show up?"

"We'll go back to Durango and wait a couple more days. If they don't show we'll head for Mexico."

"And what are we gonna do about the marshal and his sidekick?" Kathy refused to call Bart anything other than sidekick. "No self-respectin' law dog dresses like that. He's a phony if I ever seen one."

Buddy didn't want to concede that the girl had a point. "Nothin', unless they come after us. Then I'll finish what you started."

XXXXXXXX

"Thought you were coming back late." Jeanne was standing in front of Jeb; he had his arms around her waist. They were behind closed doors in the marshal's office.

"It's that darn crybaby deputy. He didn't wanna be out after dark."

Jeanne did her best not to laugh. What Jeb said was funny, but she didn't think he fully appreciated Bart Maverick's unique talents. "You're not being fair to him, Jeb. He got your hide out of a jam with the rancher's."

"I know he did, honey. You're not fallin' for my friend, are you? You wouldn't be the first if you did."

Jeanne shook her head. "There's only one man wearing a badge that I'm interested in. And he doesn't play poker for a living."

"I'm glad to hear that." Jeb pulled her close and was going to kiss her when there was a knock on the door. "That better not be my deputy."

There was silence outside for just a moment, and then Jeb and Jeanne heard, "It's not. It's your friend the gambler."


	16. Thataway

Chapter 16 – Thataway Just as Coughlin had advised, he and Maverick waited. Jeb tended to paperwork, not his favorite part of the job, and Bart played poker with Jesse, Red, Art Dash and Fred Wasson, the barber. Bart wasn't any happier with his poker than Jeb was with his paperwork. The way the two of them went about it, they might as well have traded tasks.

Two days later an unexpected source paid off. Billy Joe Jackson came up to see Jeb early in the afternoon and Bart happened to be in the sheriff's office sharing coffee with the marshal. Billy came in the door slowly, almost acting like he had something to hide. "Billy Joe, what brings you up this way? Don't tell me that ornery horse of mine finally took a bite out of you?" Bart hadn't expected the truce between gelding and livery man to last as long as it had.

"No, sir, ain't had no trouble from the big fella. I come up to see the marshal."

Jeb put down his coffee cup. "Uh, oh, what did I forget to do this time?"

"You didn't forget nothin', marshal. Remember Even Dunstead, down at the livery in Durango?"

"Sure do. I practically had to pull information out of him."

Billy Joe grinned. That was Even, alright. "Well, he's a friend of mine. Been one for goin' on twenty years. He sent me a telegram this mornin'."

Jeb sighed. It was getting as hard to get information out of Billy Joe as it had been Even. "What was in the telegram, Billy Joe?"

"Well, sir, he sent it to me because he don't really know you."

"What did Even have to say?" Bart asked, trying his best to put Jeb out of his misery.

"Remember those people you was askin' him about?"

It hadn't done any good. Billy Joe was determined to make this short story into a long one. "Yes, sir," Jeb answered.

"Well, Even said he seen the two boys in the diner in town yesterday."

Bart asked the next question. "Were they alone?"

"They were. Just the boys, not the girl."

"Billy Joe, you send Mr. Dunstead a telegram that Bart and me are on our way. You tell Homer to charge it to the sheriff's account. We'll saddle our horses."

"You don't have to do that, marshal. Everett was saddlin' them when I left."

Coughlin turned to the gambler. "Deputy, you ready to ride?"

Bart nodded his head. "I will be if you'll quit usin' that ugly word on me."

"What, Deputy?"

"That's the one."

Even Jeb had to laugh at that. "You ain't never gonna forgive that, are you?"

The gambler shook his head. "Nope. Not as long as I live."

The two men made sure their Remington's were loaded, then hurried down to the livery. Just as Billy Joe had finally explained, Everett was just finishing the saddling of Jeb's dark grey stallion. Noble was saddled but Everett had left the cinch tightening to Bart. "Sorry, Mr. Maverick, but he was eyeballin' me every couple of minutes and I didn't wanna take no chances."

"That's alright, Everett," Bart agreed as he tightened the cinch. "If I was anybody but me I wouldn't have tightened it, either."

As soon as they were both mounted Jeb led the way out of the barn and south towards Durango. "Let's hope they're still in town."

"I got a hunch they're waitin' on somebody. Let's see how fast we can get there." Bart kicked Noble into a canter and Jeb followed suit. It still took over two hours to get to the town; it was, after all, twenty miles away. They rode in slowly and went straight to the livery. Dunstead was there waiting for them.

"They rode by here not twenty minutes ago, marshal. And the girl was with 'em."

Even was more willing to part with information this time; Bart suspected that Billy Joe had made him aware of the reward the ranchers were offering. "Which direction did they go in?" Coughlin asked.

"West. Thataway," the livery man answered as he pointed.

Jeb took off at a gallop and Bart quickly followed. Once they were out of town it was easy to pick up the unshod tracks. The three horses went west for about a mile and then turned south towards the San Miguel River. "Well, horses gotta drink, don't they?"

Bart tried not to laugh. It just encouraged Jeb. The two men rode about another two miles before the tracks disappeared, but they could both hear horses in the distance. Lots of horses. "What now, marshal? There's at least three of them, if not more, and God only knows how many horses. And we don't dare go back to Telluride for reinforcements."

"No, but you can go back to Durango and send a telegram to Jeanne. Tell her to round up as many ranchers with guns as she can and head for Durango. In a couple hours you can meet whoever shows up."

"You can't stay out here by yourself, Jeb. It's too dangerous." Bart knew first-hand what happened when you were alone with the rustlers.

"I won't be alone, amigo. You'll be with me most of the time. And we gotta have help if we're gonna catch 'em."

The gambler didn't like it, but he knew the marshal was right. "Alright, I'll go in and send Jeanne a wire. And then I'm comin' right back."

"You do that," Coughlin laughed, trying to get Bart to laugh, too, but the gambler was having none of it.

"You be careful while I'm gone. Don't be tryin' to be a hero."

"Yes, Deputy Maverick."

Bart used one of Pappy's favorite expressions, "Hmpf," turned Noble around and took off in a whirlwind. It took him thirty minutes or more to get back to town, and another ten minutes to find the telegraph office. "Really, you'd think they'd at least hang a sign out front. So's people'd know where to go."

He worded the telegram very carefully, so she couldn't misunderstand_. 'To: Jeanne Wiley. Urgent: Deliver Immediately. Jeanne – We found what we were looking for. Bring armed help We need them NOW. Will meet you in Durango at livery. Signed: Bart Maverick.'_

Once the telegram was on its way, Bart and Noble rode back to where he last saw Coughlin. There was no sign of the marshal and Bart looked urgently for tracks. He rode almost a mile south before he picked up the trail. There was blood in the hoofprints and he scouted on foot for a quarter mile before he spotted what he didn't want to see . . . Jeb's gray stallion, munching grass contentedly.

He approached the stallion cautiously, lest he scare the animal off. By the time he reached the horse's reins he spotted the marshal, about thirty feet further on, crouched low in the tall grass. The reason for Jeb's attempt to hide soon became apparent, as Bart caught sight of the young boy another fifty yards on. He stood in a small clearing, examining something on the ground. "Come here, Kathy," the boy called, and neither of the two men watching him moved. The girl couldn't be seen or heard, so when she answered the boy neither lawman could hear what she said. It was evident she was doing her best to ignore him. Instead, the boy was joined by an older boy. He had to be Buddy Walters.

"You need to see this, Kathy," he called out, and she joined them, reluctantly.

"Now what?" she whined.

"Maybe you were right after all, tryin' to kill the deputy. Look at the tracks here," Buddy pointed out what the younger boy found. "Single pony tracks on a shod horse. Somebody's been too close for comfort. Ain't doin' no more waitin' for Jeremy and Kenny. They can get down to Mexico by themselves. We're leavin' first thing in the mornin'."

The three rustlers walked back to their camp, and Coughlin crept cautiously back to where Bart was standing. "What are you doin' here, amigo?"

"Same thing as you, marshal. Listenin' to the rustlers. Who woulda believed it? Two kids and an 'old man' of twenty-something. And the girls the killer."

"You get the wire sent?"

Bart pulled the original wire he'd written out of his pocket and handed it to Jeb. "Confirmation numbers on the bottom. Not too long I gotta go back to meet 'em You got a plan once I get 'em here? And let's hope enough of 'em come."

Coughlin nodded. "I got a plan. Now how about you ride back there and get 'em?"

Maverick noticed the change in Jeb. He seemed tense and sounded on edge. "I do somethin' wrong, marshal? "

"No, Bart, it ain't you. I just got a bad feelin' about this whole thing. Be careful, would ya? I want both of us to get outta this in one piece."

The gambler agreed wholeheartedly. "Me, too, marshal. You do the same." He mounted Noble and rode off towards Durango, in a hurry to get there and back with a posse.


	17. Dumb

Chapter 17 – Dumb

Jeanne and the other ranchers were waiting for Bart at the livery in Durango. Jesse Mack, Red Sewell and Dave Jespers carried shotguns; the others rifles. Altogether there were six men and Jeanne. Bart took five minutes to explain the situation and then they headed for the marshal.

When they got to the spot where Bart had last seen Jeb, there was no sign of him or the gray stallion. Bart wasn't the only one concerned; Jeanne Wiley was, too. "Maybe they started to move and Jeb followed them," she suggested.

"I wish I could believe that, but he knew you were comin', Jeanne. I suspect . . . " Bart thought about what he was going to say and shut his mouth.

"What, Bart? What do you suspect?" Jess persisted.

Bart gave no reply. Instead, he walked down to where he and Jeb had seen the rustlers talking. The ground was disturbed, scraped and scratched; there were no footprints visible. There were, however, hoofprints. Of a shod horse.

"I suspect they caught Jeb spyin' on them and left now instead of morning. Either Jeb's followin' them, or . . . "

"Or what, Bart?" Jeanne was the one asking the question this time.

"Or they've taken him with them."

XXXXXXXX

The marshal rode with his hands tied behind his back and a gag in his mouth. '_Stupid,'_ he thought, _'how_ _could I be so stupid?' _He looked ahead at the girl holding the reins to his gray stallion and was glad she wasn't the one that had caught him spying on them. There was no doubt in his mind that she would have shot him. Instead it was the younger boy named Spense that heard him trip and fall and yelled for Buddy to come help. By the time Buddy got there Jeb was unconscious, having hit his head on a rock when he hit the ground. Once he came to his hands were already tied and he was sitting astride his horse, a gag in his mouth. _'Well, there it is. Dumb as the rock I hit my head on.'_

"Why do you wanna take him?" the girl asked. Her name was Kathy and she was all for killing him right now.

Buddy gave her the same answer for at least the third time. "Cause if we kill him we gotta bury him, and the odds are they'll find him. If we take him with us we can bury him in Mexico, and they'll never find him. Or us."

"You sure?"

"I'm sure."

They rode on another few miles before Buddy turned to Spense. "Your sister sure is a pain in the ass, Spense."

Spense grinned. "What did I tell you when you asked if we should bring her along?"

"That she was a pain in the ass."

XXXXXXXX

It had been decided that Bart and Jeanne were going to go on, to try and find or rescue Jeb. The men went back to their ranches. Bart could have used the help, but he was just as glad that they weren't going with him. One or the other would want to battle it out with bullets, and Jeb or Jeanne would most likely take one of those bullets. Bart didn't want to see that happen. He didn't want to take Jeanne, but he needed somebody and she was as good a shot as any of the bunch. Since the rustlers seemed to have only the one gun, those were better odds than he got most of the time.

He got down in the dirt and examined the tracks. Definitely three unshod ponies and a shod horse. The only problem was Bart couldn't tell if they'd been made all at one time or one after the other three.

"What do you think, Bart?" Jeanne asked nervously.

"God's honest truth, Jeanne, I think they've got him. He wouldn't have left if they were just movin' out early. He knew we were on the way back."

"Why didn't they kill him?"

How much should he tell her? _'Better be honest, Bart,'_ he thought. "I can't tell you what they're thinkin', Jeanne, but if it was me I'd keep him alive until I got him to Mexico. Then I'd kill him."

"But why?"

"Easier to dispose of a body in Mexico. That means we gotta catch 'em before they cross the border, or he's dead."

"Bart . . ."

"I ain't gonna let that happen, Jeanne."

"How do you intend to stop it?"

Bart stood up and dusted his hands off. "Any way I have to. I'll bargain with 'em . . . their freedom for his life."

Jeanne kept her face turned away from the gambler. "You'd let them go . . . for him?"

"Of course I would! I ain't got a lawman's ethics, Jeanne. I took this badge just to get some of the heat off Jeb. I'll do whatever I have to to get him back in one piece. If I lose the rustlers because of that . . ." he shrugged his shoulders. "I ain't got no obligation to nobody , 'cept Jeb. Anything else you wanna know?"

"No," she whispered quietly. "No." She'd underestimated this man. Underestimated his loyalty and his honor. Underestimated what he'd do . . . for a friend. She wouldn't do that again. "Alright, Deputy, let's go."

XXXXXXXX

They rode the rest of the day, and Bart found them a place to camp that night. Supper consisted of jerky, stale biscuits and coffee. They sat up and talked a while, mostly about Jeb, and went to bed early. Neither one could sleep. Bart finally asked the girl a question that had been on his mind for a while. "Jeanne, what kind of a future do you see?"

She wasn't quite sure what he meant, but she answered him as best she could. "Oh, I see ranching for a while. Someday if I'm lucky, I see a husband, and kids."

"So you do wanna get married and have children?"

She didn't need to think about marriage and children. "Oh, yeah."

"Got anybody in mind?"

Jeanne laughed then. She knew exactly what Bart was getting at. "I'm kinda partial to lawmen."

"Any particular lawman?"

"Maybe."

Bart was finally satisfied. "Goodnight, Jeanne."

"Goodnight, Bart."


	18. Luck's a Good Word

Chapter 18 – Luck's a Good Word

Bart and Jeanne got up the next morning, drank coffee and saddled up. "When do you think we'll catch up to them?" Jeanne asked the gambler.

"'Bout late afternoon. They can move horses faster than cattle, but not that much faster."

"You got a plan or do we play it by ear?"

Bart had to chuckle. Bret would have said, "What's the plan?" Jeanne asked if he had one. "Depends on how many there are and where they've got Jeb. In other words, play it by ear."

The woman didn't ask him any more questions. They rode in silence for a while, and then Bart grew curious. "How did you two meet, anyway?"

"That's kinda funny. The marshal had come through town several times, and I always thought he was good looking. But he never stayed more than a day. The last time he came to town we had a Sadie Hawkins Day* dance going on the next night, so I asked him to go with me. I was surprised when he said yes. After that we were together whenever we could be."

"Has Jeb talked to you about the sheriff's job in Telluride?"

Jeanne kind of smiled. She was riding behind Bart, so he couldn't see her expression. "We've talked about it. He's trying to get it changed to a marshal's job."

"That ought to be pretty easy to do when he catches the rustlers."

"When he . . .?" She thought it over for a few minutes before she understood what Bart was implying. "Yes, I would imagine it will be fairly easy after that."

"He's a good man," Bart told her, "for a lawman. The marshal's central office should be happy to have him there."

"That's assuming we get him back alive." Jeanne caught up to Bart and rode alongside him.

"We will, Jeanne, we will."

They stopped again to eat a quick bite – stale biscuits and coffee – then got right back on the trail. It was almost four o'clock when Bart stopped his horse. Jeanne ended up alongside him. Both were deadly silent. There were faint sounds in the air.

"Do you hear that?" Bart asked quietly.

"The whinnying? I sure do," Jeanne whispered back.

"They can't be more than a mile or so ahead. Let's take it real slow from here."

Less than an hour later they were close enough to see the herd. None of the rustlers or Jeb were in sight. "That's more than 200 head of horseflesh," the woman commented.

"About ten times more, I'd say," Maverick replied. "They must have met up with whoever they were waiting around Durango for. I wonder how many baby rustlers we've got to deal with now?"

Jeanne covered her mouth with her hands to keep from laughing when she heard Bart use the term "baby rustlers." He gave her an odd look but didn't say anything. They rode on, taking it very slowly, and soon were able to discern man from beast. "I count four on the herd and one drivin' the wagon. That' probably their chuck wagon."

"What about Jeb?" she wanted to know.

"Don't see him, but his horse is tied to the back of the wagon. I'd guess he's inside."

"You really think so or are you just trying to pacify me?"

"I wouldn't be here if I didn't think so," he responded to her. "Looks like they're beddin' down for the night. Two or three in the mornin' we should have a chance to get him out."

"A chance or a good chance?"

"Inquisitive creature, ain't you?" Bart chuckled, and quickly covered his mouth with his hands, as Jeanne had done before.

"Touché," she whispered.

"Let's make camp here. I'm afraid there won't be any coffee tonight."

"That's alright. I've got some hardtack and some jerky in my saddlebags."

"You are resourceful," the gambler spoke softly.

They ate their meager supper and Bart suggested that Jeanne get some sleep. "I can't. All I'm gonna do is worry."

"Try anyway."

She lay down, head against her saddle, and fell asleep. The next thing she remembered was Bart shaking her gently. "I thought you couldn't sleep."

"Never believe a woman. What time is it?"

"Almost three o'clock."

"Alright, Deputy, what's the plan?"

"We're gonna sneak up on 'em and run the herd. They'll go fast enough that all four'll have to chase 'em, and we'll only have to deal with the one drivin' the wagon."

"Is that the girl?"

"Nope. Looks like little brother. You got a gun?"

"In the other saddlebag." Jeanne was already digging in her saddlebag for her gun.

"Like I said before, resourceful."

The woman checked the gun to make sure it was loaded, then stood and picked up her saddle. "How do you want to do this?"

"I'll take the far side, and get the herd goin'. You take the near side and get up towards the front. I want you out of the way as fast as possible. When I give you the signal you cut off and come back up here."

"And Jeb?"

"After you've gotten clear I'll hit the wagon from the back. I'll bring him back here as soon as I've got him out."

"What about the baby rustlers?"

"I'll go back after 'em once I've got Jeb clear. If I can get him untied fast enough, I'll put him on his horse and maybe we can round 'em up. I'm not takin' any chances, though. Jeb's my first priority." He looked over at the woman. She seemed to have pretty steady nerves. "You ready?" Jeanne nodded. "Remember. Don't come out runnin' until I've fired the first shot. And do your best to scare the life outta them ponies. It's gonna take me fifteen or twenty minutes to get over on the far side, so be patient."

"Bart?"

"Yes, Jeanne?"

"Good Luck."

"You, too."

*Sadie Hawkins Day was not celebrated until 1937. So I took a little literary license.


	19. Stampede

Chapter 19 – Stampede

Jeanne Wiley sat on her horse and waited. And waited and waited. Just when she thought something had happened to Bart she heard gunfire and the sound of his whooping and hollering. She kicked her mount and came charging down from their campsite, emulating the gambler as best she could. The herd was already at full gallop and there was no sign of any of the rustlers.

It felt like they'd been running forever when she heard the gambler's signal and veered off, back up into the hills and the spot where they were to meet. She got off her horse and listened to the sounds of a full-blown stampede, all the while hoping and praying that Bart could free Jeb safely.

Bart ran the herd until he could see all four rustlers in full flight, then pulled Noble up short and headed back for the wagon, which had fallen considerably behind the stampeding horses. "Pull 'em up," he shouted to the boy holding the reins, taking aim at Spense until the wagon rumbled to a halt. "Get down on the ground," he yelled to the boy, who scrambled down from the seat with his hands in the air. "Come around here where I can see you." Spense complied, and Bart yelled at the wagon, "Jeb, you in there?"

Then he heard the sound he'd been hoping for the whole time he chased the rustlers. "What took you so long, amigo?" Bart swung around the back of the wagon, gun still aimed at the boy. He might just be a child, but he was also a kidnapper and a rustler. Jeb was laying on his side, hands still tied behind him. "Get me outta here, would ya?" the marshal pleaded as Bart hurriedly freed him from the rope around his legs.

Jeb scrambled down from the wagon with Bart's help, and the erstwhile 'deputy' set about untying his hands. Jeb rolled his shoulders forward and moaned, then grabbed his horses reins from Bart and swung up on the stallion. "Now or later?" he asked, referring to their roundup of the rustlers.

Bart stole a quick glance at the now subdued herd and counted one, two, three of the thieves. The only one missing was the girl. None of the three appeared to have the rifle. "Now," Bart answered as the rustlers made their way to the wagon, unaware of what had taken place. As Buddy, Jeremy and Kenny came around the front they found Spense leaning sullenly against the side, with the marshal and deputy in full control. "Gentlemen, get down off your horses and tie them up in back. And don't make any attempts to run, because the marshal might not shoot you, but I will. Where's the girl?"

"What girl?" Buddy sneered.

"The one that likes to shoot people," Jeb snapped back at him.

"She ran," Kenny offered.

Bart didn't believe him. And then he thought of Jeanne, up in the hills and alone. "We gotta get them tied up, Jeb. Jeanne's up there by herself."

"You keep a gun on 'em, amigo, and I'll do the honors." The marshal was already at work on Buddy. It didn't take long to secure three of them; they left Spense with his hands free to drive the wagon. "Up on your horses, men," Jeb ordered. He'd tied their hands in front so he could secure them to the saddle horn, and he took the reins of the three horses and mounted his grey. "Let's go."

Bart led Spense up in the hills, to the spot where Jeanne should be. He let out a slow breath when he saw her, and made sure there was no one else in sight. Jeb followed with his three prisoners, and his eyes lit up when they caught Jeanne's. "You been sittin' here this whole time?" He couldn't help but ask her.

"Sitting here, marshal? Who do you think helped your deputy run the stampede?" The woman protested angrily.

Jeb turned to Bart, who nodded. "She did her part real well. Maybe she oughtta be your deputy."

"Oh, no. I've got another job in mind for her."

Suddenly there was a new voice heard. "Now ain't that a purty scene? Too bad it ain't gonna end the way you think it is."

"Hello, Kathy," the gambler acknowledged her. "I figured you were around somewhere." He didn't have to ask where the rifle was; it was pointed right at his chest. "Don't you think it's time you put the gun down?"

"No, Mr. Pretend Deputy, I do not. I shoulda killed you when I had the chance, but as Spense is quick to point out, at that distance I'm a lousy shot. This distance is a little different."

"It won't do you any good to kill him, Kathy. You'll still have to deal with me. And I'll make sure you hang." Jeb made sure she saw the Colt in his hand.

She moved the rifle towards Jeanne. "Fine. I'll shoot her, instead."

The pretend deputy spoke up. "You do that and I'll kill your brother. And then you'll hang."

Kathy laughed, but it had a hollow sound to it. "You wouldn't shoot a kid for no reason."

"Watch me." Bart swung around and got Spense in his sights. "Drop the rifle or he dies."

Instead of putting the gun down she fired and knicked Bart's right wrist bone. The shot ricocheted, catching Spense in the chest. Kathy turned the gun on Jeb, fired again and hit him in the leg. In return Jeb shot her; the impact knocked her off her horse. Jeanne ran over to the girl but there was nothing to be done; the rustler was dead. She wasn't the only one, her brother was dead, too.

Jeb's leg was only knicked, and he hobbled over to Bart, who was in considerable pain as Jeb turned him over. "Damn, that's twice she got me."

"She won't make it three, amigo. She's dead."

The gambler tried to turn his head but couldn't. "What about Spense?"

"Same."

"Wasn't tryin' to kill the boy, Jeb. I was runnin' a bluff, and somebody called it."

"Don't worry about it, amigo, it wasn't your shot that killed him. She hit you on the wrist bone and the shot ricocheted. She killed her own brother."

"We make a great pair. I can't shoot and you can't ride," the gambler chuckled. "What did she call me? Mr. Pretend Deputy. At least you ain't the pretend marshal."

Jeanne interrupted. "Bart, let me tie up the wrist until we get back to Telluride. Jeb, I need to bind your leg, too. Here's what we can do – Jeb will drive the wagon and Bart and me will ride herd on those three that are all pale as a ghost."

Bart asked his question in a voice loud enough to be heard all the way down the canyon. "Sure we wanna drag their sorry hides back to Telluride? We could shoot all three and be done with it."

Jeb played along with him. "No, I can't let you shoot 'em as long as they behave. But if they give us any trouble . . . "

Bart winced as Jeanne tied a bandana around his wrist. "Are we takin' the bodies back?"

"Yeah, I think we better."

"Better get there in a hurry, then, or we're gonna have two very smelly corpses on our hands."

"Let's see what they got in the way of food. Bart, can you get in there? Jeanne, can you help?"

The two of them took inventory as best they could and found they had food in abundance. Between the three of them, they got the two bodies wrapped in their bedrolls and tied across their horses. Jeanne had made the right call assigning jobs on the way home – Jeb didn't need to use his leg to drive the wagon, and Bart could ride Noble using one hand. Jeanne took Bart's Colt revolver and Jeb carried the shotgun in the wagon.

At last they were on their way back to Telluride, and Mr. Pretend Deputy's stint as just that was almost over.


	20. Fini

Chapter 20 – Fini

Bart's wrist was as good as new in ten days. Jeb hobbled around for a week longer than that before the marshal was back to normal. Coughlin couldn't figure out why Maverick was still in Telluride until he found out two things . . . the big poker game was set to begin Friday, and there were rumors that the ranchers had decided how the forty-one hundred dollar reward was to be split.

Even with a damaged wrist Bart was able to play poker, and he got into the regular nightly game that included Jesse Mack, Red Sewell, Fred Wasson, Dave Jespers, Art Dash and Buck Wilson. He hadn't lost his touch and still pocketed more than double what he lost. Sometimes after the game had broken up he went with the poker group to Cindy's to have breakfast, sometimes he went down to Jeb's office and waited for the marshal. Once in a while Jeanne would join the two men for breakfast.

Thursday night there was no poker, so Jeb and Bart went to Jeanne's ranch for supper. It was delicious, as it always was, and it was nice to sit with friends and not talk about rustlers. The marshal and the ranch owner went to the kitchen to get dessert and when they came back they broke the news. "Bart, got somethin' to tell you."

Bart sat in the front room and waited. It could be any of a dozen different things, and he wasn't about to guess. "Actually, Jeb, you have two things to tell him." That was from Jeanne, and the gambler almost laughed out loud. She sounded exactly as she had when she was making suggestions on how they'd get back.

"Well, come on man. Tell me."

"The U.S. Marshal's office has decided to station a marshal in Telluride. I got the job."

Bart stood up and shook hands with Jeb. "Congratulations. They couldn't have picked a better man for the position."

"That's what I told him," Jeanne agreed.

"Are you gonna make me beg for the second thing?" Bart implored as he drank his coffee.

"Oh, yeah," Jeb remarked casually, "Me and Jeanne are gettin' married."

"Congratulations again, you two. I think you're gonna make perfect partners."

That elicited a hug from Jeanne. "Thank you. I do, too."

"When are you gonna get hitched?" Jeb asked.

"Whoa there, boy. Just because you do doesn't mean I'm ready."

"Then you better learn not to talk in your sleep. I know all about Doralice. Real unusual name."

"Real unusual girl. And that's all I'm gonna say."

Jeb kind of hesitated. "I'd like . . . I'd like you to stand up with me. Kind of like my best man, amigo."

"When's the wedding?"

That was easy to answer. "The day after the poker game ends."

"In that case I accept," the gambler told them.

"We're just goin' to the judge at the courthouse. He already said he'd do it."

"No big fancy weddin' for you two?" Bart asked.

"No sir. I just want to be married to this man. We're not big, fancy people." Jeanne was certain of what she wanted; it was Jeb, not a white wedding gown.

"In that case we must have a toast." Bart proclaimed, and Jeanne got out the brandy and the glasses. "To two of the finest people I know, may you have nothing but docile ponies and easy days." They all drank, and then Bart told them, "That means you don't have to sleep in the jail anymore, Jeb. You thinkin' of rentin' it out?"

"I don't think I'll have to, amigo. I think I'll have plenty of paying occupants."

"Not too many I hope."

"Say, Bart, we're gettin' together a bunch to go out and round up as many of the stolen ponies as we can find. You interested in goin' with us?"

The gambler shook his head. "No, Jeb, I'll pass on this one. I've got some cards to worry about the next few days."

"That's what I thought, but I figured I better give you the option, just in case you had decided to give up poker and put that badge back on. You make a damn fine lawman, amigo and I'd love to have you as a deputy."

"No,no,no,no,no, my friend. My pappy would kill me if I did that. Besides, I got a little gal waitin' for me in Texas that's made me stop thinkin' of marriage as a prison sentence."

"Ah, the mysterious Doralice," Jeanne remarked.

"That's the one," Bart replied.

"Well, your poker game starts tomorrow. May you be as lucky at that as we were at catchin' rustlers."

Maverick laughed. "That's a curse if I've ever heard one."

Soon after, the lawman and the gambler rode back to town. It was an easy ride, a pleasant one, with the two old friends talking about many things. Bart's mind was beginning to turn to poker, and Jeb's to the roundup and his wedding. Even though their thoughts were now going in different directions, for a while they had been as one mind. A marshal and his deputy, out to catch the bad guys.

The End


End file.
